


Cullen's Charge

by Tishina



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Cross-cultural, Cultural Differences, F/M, Humor, Romance, Slow Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-23
Updated: 2015-05-24
Packaged: 2018-03-08 16:47:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 42,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3216293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tishina/pseuds/Tishina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>I asked, what would a Dalish miss most, living with humans? The result was a humorous short story about Cullen, Zima Lavellan, and Cullen's Charge, which is now chapter 6. I liked the interaction so much I decided to fill in the conversations and questions the game leaves blank, going back to develop their friendship from earlier, then continue it on. No violence. Very slow romance<br/>Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Two Mugs

Cullen had just finished checking to make certain the small group of Templars camped just outside the gate had set up watches for the night and was heading back inside the gates when a soft voice out of the dark startled him.  
  
"Still working, Commander?" A slight movement on the low wall next to the steps brought the young Dalish woman who was beginning to be called the Herald of Andraste into the circle of firelight cast by the torch. She took another step to the edge, sitting down gracefully with her legs over the edge while Cullen wondered, not for the first time, how someone with her fair skin could go so unseen in the dark.  
  
"There's so much to do, and Haven isn't exactly a defensible position, Lavellan. But I'm almost done for tonight."  
  
She nodded, brushing her short dark hair back from her face before she reached behind her to bring a steaming jug and two clay mugs into the torchlight. "If you're almost done working, would you care to share a drink, Commander?" Zima must have seen something in his face because she added quickly, "it's just mint tea sweetened with honey, Commander, I find it relaxes me and helps me …sleep." Her left hand tightened over the strange scar that marked her miraculous survival. Until now, she had cooperated with everything they asked very quietly and shown little sign that the mark bothered her, though Cassandra and Leliana had reported it clearly caused her a great deal of pain at first. They'd all thought that stabilizing the rift had relieved her of the pain, but now he wondered if they'd been mistaken. "I slipped out here to…get outside of the walls for a few minutes."  
  
He nodded and accepted the mug, sipping for a moment while he thought quickly. "You seem to be so comfortable with everything, Lavellan, that we tend to forget you're Dalish, I think. I suppose living like this must feel very strange to you?"  
  
"When we're out in the field, not so much, but when we're here…" She stared into her mug of tea before sipping hastily. "I'm sorry, you're a Templar so I suppose I shouldn't say this to you."  
  
"Ex-templar. And even if I was, you aren't an apostate."  
  
She chuckled softly, glancing back toward the gates. "The chantry isn't overly fond of the Dalish, Commander; we only exist as Dalish because of an Exalted March. Though honestly, I'm only uncomfortable near the priests here because they either see me as either the Herald of Andraste or a heretic; neither seem like a safe thing for a Dalish."  
  
"I can understand that. I think many non-humans, even those who believe in the Maker, avoid entering the Chantry itself, which is regrettable, and I'd imagine it would be even more uncomfortable for a Dalish for several reasons."  
  
He was startled when she laughed softly, giving him an almost impish smile. "Would it surprise you to know that I've been inside chantries in the Free Marches a number of times? Commander, hasn't anyone wondered why I was at the summit?"  
  
"You said your clan's leader, your…Keeper sent you to find out if the conclave was a threat to the Dalish?" He cupped his hands to warm them around the mug, watching her dark blue eyes study him over the rim of the mug as she sipped slowly.  
  
"Yes, but didn't you wonder why _me_?" She lowered the mug, staring into it for a moment as if gathering her thoughts. "However much some of the Dalish would like to pretend otherwise, we do have to have contact with non-Dalish, at least to trade for things we can't produce ourselves, particularly metalwork. Or did you think we hauled around a full blacksmith's shop and an iron smelter in one of our aravels?" She surprised him with another impish grin that made her look years younger.  
  
"I…guess I never thought about it." He took a sip, watching her with both fascination and a little caution now that she seemed to be letting down her guard a little.  
  
"Most clans have at least one or two people who have enough experience to be able to trade with humans and dwarves in relative safety, and when I showed a talent for being unnoticed, my Keeper apprenticed me to our current trader. He taught me how to conceal my vallaslin, how to go unnoticed, how to observe the people for potential trouble before we tried trading, and how to evaluate a blacksmith in particular." She grimaced suddenly "And he taught me how to spot the worst trouble and remove myself safely. It is rarely a good thing for a young elven woman to be noticed by a human, particularly a human noble; they're inclined to see us as…toys, as things." Zima saw his eyes darken, and shook her head. "No, I learned to be very alert, Commander, and I also learned that while many humans never saw past our differences, others did and were people very like my own clansmen in many ways."  
  
"I see. So she sent you because you have spent more time among humans."  
  
"Partly." The smile slipped for a moment, then she recovered. "Our clans are too small for anyone to be expendable, but I go in harm's way for them because my loss would harm the clan less."  
  
Now that he was watching her more closely, Cullen didn't miss the momentary flicker of her eyes down at the mug, then back to meet his calmly. "Why? Do you mean that you go in harm's way to be their eyes and ears outside the clan?"  
  
He saw tension in her shoulders and the way her hands tightened on the mug. "Partly that." She saw the question in his eyes and shrugged. "No one in Clan Lavellan is directly dependent on me, and there have also been times I've left the clan for a few months to travel and learn more than my clan may think necessary. I have learned too much about the non-Dalish for even my own clan to be entirely comfortable with me now. For all we Dalish pride ourselves on recovering and preserving old knowledge, they are much less comfortable with someone who is interested in learning of something different than that. They're still my clan, but I have walked a different path from them for many years." Her lips twisted wryly as she looked down at her left hand. She suddenly took a long draught of the tea. "I never thought it would take me this far from them, though."  
  
She raised the jug and refilled her own mug and his. "What you're doing here, have done here in and in the Hinterlands, is very important, Lavellan, and you've been giving people—human, elf, and dwarf—hope."  
  
Zima wrinkled her nose at him. "A symbol? That's fine for now, but what happens when I make a decision _they_ don't agree with? Will I instantly go from Herald to heretic? Even Lady Josephine, Leliana, and Cassandra want very badly to believe that I was somehow chosen by the Maker. You, at least, call me Lavellan, you know, just as if I'm a real person and not a symbol."  
  
Cullen frowned, thinking back and realizing that the others did almost always call her Herald and how her eyes, that odd dark blue, often rested on him briefly, curiously, when he addressed her by name. "You're right, I hadn't noticed. You said you had been inside chantries before this? How does…" His words trailed off as he tried to think of a way to ask without giving offense.  
  
"Why would a heathen Dalish spend time in a chantry?" She held the mug against her cheek for a moment, eyes closed as if drawing warmth from it. "Back not long before the blight, or at least before the Free Marches heard about it, I met a Chantry priest, a Revered Mother, in fact, who saved me when she could easily have won favors and donations for her chantry by handing me over to someone, and she did it although she had never seen me before and even recognized I was Dalish." Her eyes stared past him into the dark. "It's a boring story, really, but when I tried to repay her, she refused, saying if I felt I owed a debt, she would be interested in hearing whatever I felt safe telling her about the Dalish gods. Our clan stayed in the area for several months, and I…was glad of an excuse to get away from our camp at the time. " Her slight hesitation made Cullen think she had censored what she was going to say, but he was reluctant to pry when he was actually finding out more about her than they'd learned in several weeks. "She slowly became a friend, encouraged me to read books from their library, discussing them with me, then she gave me the names of a few other priests and scholars in the Free Marches who she thought might be willing to teach a Dalish, along with a letter from her." Zima shrugged. "It was a relatively peaceful area, and of course we had no idea a blight was starting in the south, so I told our Keeper, who was the only one who knew I'd been visiting a priest to learn more about humans, that I was going to travel for a few months to meet some of these people. She didn't entirely approve, but I don't think she was surprised either." Her eyes suddenly refocused on his, sharp and piercing. "So yes, I've been in chantries many time, I've heard the Chant of Light, and I've even read it, including the Book of Shartan." There was another brief flash of that impish grin. "Which I also probably shouldn't admit to even an ex-Templar."  
  
A voice from the darkness startled both of them. "Does that mean you believe in the Maker instead of the Creators, Lavellan?" Solas stepped into the light, leaning on his staff, his eyes curious, but not entirely approving, on Zima.  
  
She shrugged. "Does one necessarily preclude the other, Solas? I believe in both the Creators and the Maker, but there's a difference between that and worshipping them, and I don't. I'm not certain we actually know the truth about any of them. However hard we try, we Dalish only know bits and pieces of our history and religion, and I have my doubts about how well we've interpreted even those." She eyed Solas warily, as if expecting an outburst, but he studied her with an expression that was almost approving in return.  
  
Cullen watched the exchange silently, startled at her admission. Everyone had assumed that she was devout to the Dalish gods, though many also seemed to assume that being "chosen" would mean she would convert to the Maker, yet here she was firmly claiming a middle ground that no one, even Solas, had apparently considered.  
  
"I can find no fault with that, skepticism is healthy as long as it does not become cynicism, and you are far more open-minded than the other Dalish I have met."  
  
"And how many of Clan Lavellan have you met before this?" Cullen was a little surprised at the challenge in her voice, recalling for the first time that Dalish and other elves did not always trust each other. But Leliana had also reported that Zima had made a point of speaking to every elf in Haven at least briefly to learn their names, down to the lowest servant.  
  
"None, an omission I am beginning to regret, though somehow I doubt you are typical of your clan?" Solas's statement was almost amused, a challenging question that caused Zima to break their stare uncomfortably. "I would be very surprised if you were. Good evening, Lavellan, Commander."  
  
He continued serenely past them through the gates, but when Cullen turned back to Zima, she had an exasperated expression, staring through the gate and muttering a phrase in Elvhenen that he couldn't quite make out before catching his stare and flushing. "I apologize, I don't know why, but he brings out the worst in me, Commander; it's been a long time since anyone treated me like a child or made me react like one." Her lips twisted in a rueful smile. "And yet, you and he are the only two people here who never refer to me as Herald, at least when speaking to me alone." Abruptly she hopped off the wall. "Our clan's hahren told me once that when you feel lonely and want a friend, take a walk with two mugs and one will find you." She grinned impishly at Cullen's expression as she collected the mugs and jug. "I'm rather glad you found me before Solas did. Good night, Commander." She vanished into the darkness before he could even react enough to say good night, realizing he'd never even thought to wonder why she'd had two mugs with her.


	2. A Matter of Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Practical jokes and Dalish honor  
> No violence, no romance (yet).  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.

"She did what?"  
  
Josephine stared at the messenger, open-mouthed. "The message from the Crossroads was that a knight from Verchiel got a bucket of slimy pond water dumped on him." The messenger was eying Cullen, Leliana, and Josephine nervously. "By…the Herald."  
  
"Maker's breath. Do we know why she did it?" Cullen ran a hand through his hair tiredly.  
  
"No sir, but the Herald sent a note." The messenger quickly handed over the folded bit of parchment that hadn't been included in the rest of the reports. Leliana took it, her lips twitching as Josephine clearly fumed, scanning the neatly penned lines, covering her mouth to suppress a laugh.  
  
"Lavellan says that Sera swiped her…knickers and hung them from a tree near their campsite recently, and the bucket of pond water had been intended for Sera as a revenge prank until she saw the knight hit his servant just before he passed under the tree she was hiding in. She felt he needed the lesson more and apologizes if his lord complains to Josephine, though she feels certain this knight cannot represent anyone we'd want to ally with, and begs us not to say anything about it in the official instructions we send back to her. Lavellan adds that returning the favor to Sera is a matter of Dalish honor, and if she doesn't succeed, Sera won't respect her." The messenger coughed, his hand over his mouth and his eyes firmly fixed on the wartable. Cullen fixed his eyes on the stained glass chantry window, his lips twitching, while Josephine tapped her pen in annoyance.  
  
"We cannot build up a good reputation with the nobles if the Herald and Sera engage in a public war of pranks, this is really very serious."  
  
"Well, perhaps you can suggest ways to Lavellan to teach a high ranking person a lesson that nobles will respect better, though I have to admit I think this was rather appropriate. And she's absolutely right that the only way to get Sera's respect is to retaliate." Leliana's eyes gleamed with mischief. "Did the Herald have anything else to say?"  
  
"No, milady, though she did ask me to see if the alchemist had any wrengrass and monk's lichen." An abrupt bark of a laugh was surprised out of Cullen.  
  
"Did she now? Exactly those two herbs?" The corners of his eyes showed lines of laughter that he managed to repress after that first laugh. "Well, check with the alchemist then get some food and rest. We'll have messages to go back to the Herald before morning." The messenger bowed and began to back away, but Cullen stopped him. "This…might be better not discussed widely, at least for now, however tempting it might be."  
  
"Yessir, of course." The messenger fled, but the door was barely shut before Cullen began to chuckle, thumb rubbing his scar absently. Josephine was beginning to let go of her annoyance, but Leliana eyed him suspiciously.  
  
"Alright, Commander, why do you find her request for those two herbs so amusing. I'm not really familiar with either."  
  
He coughed, getting himself under control. "They're fairly common in the eastern Free Marches, and they do have medicinal uses. But if you grind them together with salt and put them, say, in someone's socks, they cause the wearer to itch. Frantically. You have to take off the socks and wash your feet, and after about ten minutes, the itching fades, but you have to be careful to shake out the powder from the socks then wash them carefully before actually touching them again." Leliana slowly smiled, then began laughing while even Josephine's lips twitched.  
  
"This is her replacement for the bucket of water, and if she plays the joke on someone besides Sera, it won't get traced back to her. And since she didn't order the messenger to keep it secret, she expected us to find out. But how did you know about this, Commander?"  
  
"We once had a prankster among the Templar recruits who used this very effectively on a couple of other recruits; I did eventually catch Carver, but I reprimanded him privately, mostly because it was a harmless prank in response to jokes they'd played on him." He shrugged. "Normal high spirits, but sometimes Meredith was a bit heavy handed with the recruits. I did get him to tell me how it was made, apparently it's a fairly common joke in the eastern Free Marches."  
  
Josephine shuddered, "at least it's a bit more subtle than a bucket of slimy pond water."  
  
Leliana laughed. "I for one am glad to know the Herald has a sense of humor. Though if she or Sera try one of these jokes on Cassandra…"


	3. Command

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zima makes a point, and Cullen finds out a little more about why the Dalish sent her to spy.  
> Filling in more of what the game left open, mostly "why this person was there"  
> No violence, no romance (yet).  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.

Zima rubbed shoulder tiredly. "Please, I think Ritts will make an excellent agent for the Inquisition, she's wasted standing watch out on patrol."  
  
"She was derelict in her duty, Lavellan, engaging in a…dalliance while on duty." The elf raised an eyebrow at the Antivan, lips twisting in a wry smile.  
  
"People do strange things when they think the world is coming to an end, Lady Josephine, like, oh, recruiting a Dalish spy into an Inquisition. If Templars hadn't come across them, it would have been harmless, or she might even have recruited that mage to the Inquisition. Frankly, we can use all the help we can get."  
  
"But to reward her by recruiting her as an agent?"  
  
Zima glanced at Cassandra and Cullen who had remained surprisingly silent during this discussion, though both looked uncomfortable, then shook her head, surprising all of them by suddenly crossing her arms and scowling at Josephine.  
  
"Look, you put me in charge of a team and sent me out in the field with them. You supposedly gave me the authority to use my judgment, and I stand by the decisions I made. If you're going to second guess me, if you can't back me when I have to use that authority, then you need to send someone else. It isn't as if I'm making decisions without careful consideration either. Seeker, did I or did I not ask Varric's opinion?"  
  
"You did." Cassandra spoke the words briskly, nodding as if in approval.  
  
"And if I recall correctly, his words were 'if you can charm the pants off an apostate in the middle of a war, you've got talent.'" Cassandra snorted, but nodded again.  
  
"Ritts may have made a bad judgment, but I can't say in the same situation many of our people might not have done the same thing. People are scared, and they want to feel alive, to touch something that makes it all feel worthwhile, and I'd be very much surprised if there aren't as many people desperately trying to feel more alive that way as there are people praying and reciting the chant of light." Zima's lips twisted into an amused grin. "Or have you not been to the tavern recently?"  
  
Leliana simply raised an eyebrow, though Josephine looked a bit more uncomfortable. "Probably true. And you are right, of course, Herald. We shouldn't be second guessing your decisions if we want you to feel that it's worth actually making them in the field. You have our apologies, Lavellan. And I actually agree, Ritts sounds as if she could be useful."  
  
"Good." Zima managed a tired smile. "And when you go to interview her, before you're tempted to chew her out for her mistake, remember that she just saw someone whom she cared about at some level killed in front of her, and I doubt anything you say could make her feel worse about it."  
  
The rest of the meeting wound up quickly, and Zima watched Cassandra, Leliana, and Josephine file out, with stacks of papers, and sighed, picking up her untouched mug of now luke-warm tea, only to discover she wasn't alone when she glanced up.  
  
"You look exhausted, Lavellan. We could at least allow you to get something to eat and wash up a little before dragging you into meetings every time you report back to Haven." Cullen rested one hip on the table across from her, studying her closely.  
  
Zima shrugged, closing her eyes to inhale deeply. "We all feel the urgency, Commander, though I'm sure the aroma of sweaty horse inspires your concern." She ran a hand through her dark hair with a grimace. "I admit that my stomach is insisting that bowl of stew or a bit of roast meat and fresh bread to go with this tea would help keep me from biting anyone else's head off."  
  
He walked around the table briskly, surprising her by seizing her elbow and steering her out the door. "That we can take care of, as long as one of my aides doesn't find me between here and the cook fire, and if I'm with you, it's less likely that someone will seize on the chance to talk to the Herald of Andraste." He used the title with a humorous emphasis, and she groaned. "I won't ask how many times that happens. By the way, well spoken. I think it was past time for you to remind everyone that when we give you authority, we should expect you to use it."  
  
"'Lead or follow, my son, command cannot be shared for…'" Zima grinned up at him, dark blue eyes twinkling in mischief as she waited for him to fill in the rest.  
  
"'Two generals will lose the war.'" Cullen finished the quotation almost reflexively, stopping near the entrance of the Chantry to stare in wonder. "How does a Dalish come to quote a human text on military philosophy, especially _that_ one?"  
  
"The chantry priests I visited didn't always pay close attention to what I was reading, and the resident Templars usually have a few manuals and books on the shelves. I admit, the copy of Drakon's text I found was a very old manuscript, I'm not certain anyone even realized what it was. Did you think I spent all of my visits just reading the Chant of Light?" She shrugged and moved out the door, and shaking his head, he followed. "And do you think my Keeper would have been pleased if that's how I spent my time?"  
  
"Why Drakon's text, though? He was writing about his philosophy of command and about strategy and tactics of armies and heavily armored men and laying siege to fortified positions. The Dalish don't exactly fight in shield walls with tower shields or use siege equipment. Do they?" He led her to a table near the fire and gestured to the cook's assistant who quickly brought a bowl of stew and a platter with bread and cheese before hurrying back to the pot simmering over the cookfire.  
  
Zima picked up the spoon, stirring the stew slowly, eyes not meeting his. Finally, she said simply. "No. But humans do, Commander." She took a bite of stew before finally looking up, gaze steady. "I do believe I told you what I do for my people."  
  
"You're their eyes and ears." He studied her closely as she bit her lip and waited for him to connect information. "You don't just make certain the clan is safe in an area, do you?"  
  
"I don't collect information to use against humans, if that's what you're afraid of." She chose a slice of bread, dipping it into the stew and closing her eyes as she bit into it, chewing thoughtfully. "Commander, I don't say that the Dalish probably aren't at least partly at fault, but when a group of hotheads from a village decides to start something and some idiot is hurt or killed, what do you think happens next?" She raised a tired eyebrow at him and wrinkled her nose. "The local noble organizes his forces to come after us in retaliation. Some of them are also hotheads and badly underestimate the 'barbarians'. But once this starts, eventually someone more competent comes after us, and that's why I studied those manuals, so we'd understand how they fight and have a chance to defend ourselves, or better, to escape without having to fight at all."  
  
Cullen stared across at the Chantry, thinking hard as she slowly ate, her eyes wary on his face. "So, you have been using your friendship with priests to spy."  
  
"It certainly wasn't the main reason, and the information I collected was defensive only." She finished the last bite of bread, washing it down with some ale. "Commander, all the military manuals in the world won't turn the Dalish into an army, I think you know that. People tend to think of all Dalish as one group, but clans are scattered and far from united." Zima shrugged and grinned, though her dark eyes were still wary. "Truthfully, the ones most likely to be hostile are the traditional clans who also would expel me as too polluted by my contact with humans, as shem'lath, so they're least likely to learn anything that came from me. Frankly, three-fourths of what I learned is useless to my clan, but it let the Keeper justify my absences."  
  
"I think I understand." Cullen suspected there was more to her last statement than was apparent on the surface, but also suspected she wouldn't answer a direct question. "Was that your only interest in studying with chantry scholars, to study human warfare?"  
  
"No, it just justified the time I spent away, though honestly I found it fascinating for its own sake." She finished the stew, leaning back and rotating her shoulders. "I did learn one thing today."  
  
"What's that?"  
  
"When Lady Josephine gets upset with me, she slips and calls me Lavellan instead of Herald." Her grin had a trace of triumph in it.  
  
He had to laugh, pushing the platter of bread and cheese toward her. "That's one bit of progress, at least." He watched as she helped herself to another slice of the bread, eating it with obvious pleasure. "So, why tell us now? And why me?"  
  
She shrugged. "If I keep what I know and what I can do to myself, I'm tying your hands. As for why you instead of Leliana? Because you understand the possibilities of what I might know the best, and you value honesty. Because I thought you'd respect why I did what I did to help protect my people, and why I don't apologize for it." She grinned impishly. "Because you've a knack for seeing past things like tattoos and ears, my friend."  
  
He was embarrassed for a moment, but her grin and gently teasing tone forced a laugh out of him. "Not taking another walk with two mugs tonight, then?" Just then Solas passed, deep in conversation with Cassandra, his eyes brushing across the two at the table, frowning and hesitating for a moment before he followed the Seeker into the Chantry. Zima's eyes watched him walking away, frowning in turn, then she forced her attention back to Cullen.  
  
"I wasn't planning to, not tonight. Once I've gotten a really good bath, my cot is screaming for me." She stood, picking up the bowl to take it to the cooks, when Cullen stopped her.  
  
"Are you having problems with the apostate, Lavellan?"  
  
"Trouble? No, it's nothing about him being a mage. He's just…" She hesitated, staring down at the empty bowl in her hands, "Commander, most of the elves I've met outside the Dalish protect themselves behind a screen of subservience or they think entirely like humans, like Sera and elven mages from the circles. Solas does neither, but he's not Dalish either. And he feels he has a right to judge the Dalish without really knowing what their lives are like day to day, and that irritates me." She shrugged. "So no, there's not a serious problem, I just have to learn how to either defuse his arrogance or find out what's behind it so we can work well together." Zima rubbed her neck with a grimace. "Maybe a bath and a good night's sleep will give me an answer. Thank you, Commander."  
  
She started to walk away when he remembered something. "Oh, Lavellan, I haven't heard what Sera's reaction was to the wrengrass and monk's lichen; did you protect your Dalish honor successfully?"  
  
Zima grinned at him. "Now, Commander, of course I did. It was a glorious victory, and it took her hours to realize that _I'd_ done it. Of course, I've since had to be careful to taste my food before eating; it's gotten a bit too much pepper at least twice since then. But now that we're back in Haven, I can get more herbs from the alchemist for something even better." She winked and turned as he laughed.


	4. Between

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Who wouldn't find an archdemon and an ancient monster funny?
> 
> Between Haven and Skyhold; it seemed clear to me in the game that the Inquisitor had woken at least long enough before her conversation with Giselle in the tent to pass on some information about what happened.  
> No violence, no romance (yet).  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.

"Mother Giselle, how is she?"

Cullen and Cassandra stood at the entrance of the hastily erected tent as the elderly priest finished adjusting the blankets over the dark-haired Dalish woman.

"She is strong and will recover quickly, I think, if we can give her the rest she needs."

"Has she woken up enough to speak yet?" Cassandra bit her lip, clearly struggling between concern for Zima and the need to know exactly what happened after she stayed behind at Haven.

A tired voice startled them, and her right eye cracked just a sliver to peer at them.

"No, I'm talking in my sleep, it's more efficient that way."

Cassandra snorted, but Cullen's lips twitched slightly. "So I see. Does this mean you'd answer anything we asked right now, Lavellan?"

"Of course, and I won't even tell you that I lie when I'm sleeping, Commander. That could be fun; I could convince everyone I was really an ancient immortal elf awoken to walk Thedas or something." Her voice cracked a little, and she licked her lips. Giselle raised her head carefully and brought a cup to her lips, and she drank thirstily.

"You really should rest, child." Zima finished drinking, lying back on the pad of clothing folded under her head, but managing to open both eyes.

"I am resting. Believe me, I've had enough excitement for a few lifetimes in the last month or two."

"I guess you have." Cullen returned her lopsided smile, but his eyes were shadowed with a mix of guilt and worry. "If you're up to it, would you mind telling us a little so we know whether or not we're likely to be pursued?"

She shifted slightly and nodded. "Aside from being close enough to what appeared to be an archdemon to count his teeth and smell his breath? That… _thing_ called himself the Elder One and said his name was Corypheus. And he came for _this_." Zima lifted her left hand an inch or two, turning it over to show the mark. "He claimed I interrupted a ritual meant to give him this, he called it an anchor, and it was meant to be a weapon to breach the fade so he could become a god, and he meant to reclaim it." Her eyes slid from theirs to stare at her hand. "He…tried, but couldn't remove it." Her eyes closed tiredly. "I'm glad the signal came when it did, he seemed a bit put out by the idea he couldn't undo it, and I didn't really want to find out what he had in mind. Ending as a snack for an archdemon or centerpiece of some blood magic ritual isn't exactly my first choice of a way to go out."

Giselle stroked her head, seemingly about to object, but Zima opened her eyes and shook her head. "No, I'm fine, just tired and a bit bruised."

"How much of his force was caught by the avalanche? And what happened to you?"

"Most of his forces must have been caught, I think, but the dragon got Corypheus clear of the avalanche. I tried to run and was knocked through a damaged floor into some sort of cavern just as the avalanche reached me, so if they were watching, he may think I'm dead. I was unconscious for a while, then found a tunnel out to the surface. I'm not sure how long I wandered in the blizzard, trying to follow your tracks." She bit her lip, glancing at Giselle. "I'm sorry, your Reverence, I know you wanted to believe that this mark was a gift from the Maker and Andraste, but if he's telling the truth, it was an accident."

"That doesn't mean that the Maker's hand wasn't involved in that accident. But now you need to sleep."

Zima wrinkled her nose, then grinned ruefully at Cullen and Cassandra. "As much as I hate to lie abed, I guess surviving playing tag with an archdemon and getting thrown around by an angry monster on a quest for godhood ought to be enough for a day or two."

Cullen managed to return her grin, though there was little humor in his eyes. "Not to mention surviving an avalanche and a blizzard and buying the entire Inquisition time to escape, I'd have to concede you deserve a few hours rest." Zima chuckled, her eyes drooping closed and suddenly relaxing.

Giselle checked her breathing, tucking the blankets more tightly around her, then gestured for them to leave. "She's fine, but she needs rest."

As Cassandra and Cullen turned to rejoin Leliana and Josephine, Cassandra cocked an eyebrow at Cullen inquisitively. "You know, if Varric had overheard, he'd be clutching his chest at discovering you have a sense of humor, Commander. The Herald has certainly had a surprising influence on you."

He grimaced, "Well don't tell him, I'll never hear the end of it, though I can see where people might think I'd misplaced my sense of humor during my time in Kirkwall." Cullen glanced back over his shoulder at the tent. "She told me it frightens her that everyone only sees the Herald, Seeker; having one person comfortable enough with her as Lavellan to tease her seems to reassure her."

"I thought Sera was taking care of that." Cassandra's tone was dry.

"True, though I'm not sure that helps since Lavellan told me that the higher ranked you are, the more likely Sera is to play a joke on you. She wouldn't hesitate to hang someone's knickers from a statue of Andraste, Maker help us."

"Maker's breath, I _knew_ Sera was behind that!"


	5. Family

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The board game conversation continuing from the point she asks about his family.  
>  This story continues on from the first few lines which quoted from the friendship version of the board game in-game to place this scene in time and tell someone who's played that scene which choice she made about how she was playing the game.  
>  No violence, no romance (yet).  
>  Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.

"You have siblings?"

"Two sisters and a brother." Cullen shifted to lean forward in his chair, resting his forearms on the arms of the chair while Zima bent over the board to study the pieces.

"Where are they now?"

"They moved to South Reach after the Blight. I do not write them as often as I should. Ah, it's my turn."

Zima leaned back to watch him with a grin. "All right, let's see what you've got."

They made a few moves in a companionable silence, then while she was studying the board for her next move, he asked curiously. "Do you have family? I mean, you talk about your clan and obviously miss them, but you've never mentioned anyone except the Keeper and the, what was it, the Hahren?"

Zima leaned back in her chair again, her arms crossed on her chest, dark blue eyes studying him thoughtfully. "In Clan Lavellan? No, or not close family. My mother's siblings joined other clans when they found mates, and my father came from another clan, so I have cousins in several clans. My father returned to his clan after my mother died." She chuckled. "I've only seen him three or four times since then, but the last time we got news of his clan, I have two half-brothers. I think the oldest must be seventeen or eighteen now, but they're just names to me."

Cullen ran his right thumb absentmindedly over the scar above his lip, his fingers cupping his chin thoughtfully. "You told me once that no one in your clan was dependent on you, that's what you meant, isn't it?"

"No one I'd be more responsible for than anyone else in the clan would be, yes. I was old enough I could have chosen to go with my father, but, well," she suddenly seemed to fumble with the words. "It's hard to explain how important clan bonds are, I think because to us it's something that just _is_.

She suddenly refocused on the board, and they played for a minute or two in companionable silence before he asked curiously. "What do you miss most? I hope I'm not being rude but you sound as if you miss them a great deal, but sometimes you also sound relieved at the distance between you."

Zima continued to stare at the board, and he wasn't certain she was going to respond for a few moments. Cullen was just beginning to wonder if she'd taken offense somehow at the question when she answered slowly, "I suppose I do. What do I miss most? The sounds of children. In a Dalish camp, you always hear the sounds of children, they're always underfoot and asking questions, playing or fighting or learning from the Hahren. I almost never see or hear children here, though I know some came with their families." Her eyes were briefly focused on the distance, as if watching a scene he couldn't see. "A clan's children belong to the entire clan in a sense, so I could always spend a few minutes playing the monster for one of their games or carrying one on my shoulders or answering questions about the day's hunt." Suddenly she straightened herself, shrugging with a grin. "But the way the Dalish live, it's very hard not to know everything going on with everyone in the clan, and sometimes that's…smothering."

"And you feel smothered sometimes?" Cullen stared at the board as if considering his next move, but actually listening to the background noises in Skyhold and realizing for the first time how different that noise would seem to someone used to living on the move in a wilderness camp.

"Sometimes." She chuckled, one finger tracing a pattern at the edge of the board thoughtfully. "Sometimes it feels as if everyone knows what you think as soon as you think it, and sometimes you feel as if you know exactly what others are thinking just because you all know each other so well. I'd imagine you understand that feeling if you had three siblings."

"Yes, though I think living in Templar quarters was even more like that." His lips twisted into a crooked smile, the right side of his lips curving up higher than the left.

"Without the noisy children and the family crises, yes, I'd imagine it would be. With thicker walls." He made a move, and Zima inspected the board. "Did you play games like this when you were off-duty, or do Templars usually try to get away from the Towers?"

"Sometimes. There were usually a few of us who enjoyed it and preferred quieter amusements. I've never been one for crowds and noise."

She grinned up at him suddenly as she made her move, "I would never have guessed." Her tone was gently teasing. "Has Leliana begun twisting your arm with guilt to show up for Josephine's tea?"

"Maker's breath, another one? Remind me to hide if Leliana heads this direction. I don't understand how you can stand them." Cullen groaned, covering his eyes as she chuckled for a moment, then she sobered.

"I don't precisely enjoy them, but I'm all too aware that most of my exposure to human society has been limited to village blacksmiths and merchants or to chantry scholars. If I'm going to survive being thrown into contact with nobility, especially Orlesians, well, this is certainly a less dangerous way to learn. Being an elf, much less a heathen Dalish, already puts me at a disadvantage in their eyes."

Cullen frowned as he moved a piece. "Have you been having trouble with the ambassadors because of that?"

She shook her head. "Not really, certainly not as much as I expected. A few _pointed_ comments that they apparently assumed I was too barbaric to understand, but I'm discovering that spying and politics need many of the same skills, particularly the ability to keep your reactions to yourself. Being underestimated as an ignorant barbarian can be useful as well."

"Better you than me. But if someone really does insult you…"

Zima leaned back, covering her mouth to smother her laugh, "And you'll go tower over them, scowling like you are right now? Creators, now the next time someone makes a rude innuendo about the Dalish, I'm going to picture you standing next to them like that and have to try not to laugh."

The right side of Cullen's mouth curved up a little at her amusement. "Maybe we should warn Josephine not to have us both present when you're dealing with envoys. I suspect as soon as one said something stupid, you'd glance at me and she'd have to explain why we were both laughing. Not that I'd regret it."

"Nor I, which probably means it's a really bad idea."


	6. Cullen's Charge

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Charge!  
> This was the original story that the rest grew out of; the result of someone on the BSN speculating on how Cullen would interact with children. My first thought was he would organize them into pretend battles, then I remembered I'd wondered how odd Haven and Skyhold would seem to a Dalish, and the two came together.  
> No violence, no romance (yet).  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.

Zima leaned over the map table, trying to locate Highever. "Josephine, where does that report say they were again?"  
  
Josephine held up the parchment, turning it toward the candles to squint at the smeared ink, "The troops were last seen…" She broke off as shrill, excited voices rapidly grew louder through the door from the hallway, and turned to face the noise. Zima straightened, reaching for the bandolier with her knives, face alarmed as suddenly a dozen small children, human, elven, and dwarven, from toddlers to sturdy five and six year olds, burst through the doorway, led by a small child in a familiar lion helm and followed closely by…  
  
"Cul…Commander? What's going on?" Zima pulled her hand back from the bandolier, still staring at the tall blonde man, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips.  
  
"Troops! Wait for the command to charge! Remember, we must rescue the Lady Josephine!" Josephine frowned, setting down her writing board, then realized that a slow grin of delight was spreading across the Inquisitor's face as she saw the bread stick weapons each of the children carried. Zima seized a long thin loaf of Orlesian bread from a tray of food, breaking it in half to wield one piece in each hand, stepping in front of Josephine to face them.  
  
"Lady Josephine, behind me! I'll protect you from these dangerous bandits with my last breath! For Clan Lavellan!"  
  
She dropped into her fighting stance as Cullen roared, "Charge! Take down the vile creature holding our Lady captive!"  
  
The mob of children charged forward, trying to manage war cries that kept ending in giggles, and the young Dalish woman dodged to one side, lightly tapping one child on the head with a loaf of bread, while gently whacking another on the side as they all giggled and yelled, "For the Lady Josephine!" Within a few seconds, they had surrounded her and charged in, poking at her with their bread stick "swords", then grabbing her hands and pulling her down, mobbing her under a giggling pile of children, while two children tugged at Josephine's free hand and her sash, dragging her toward Cullen as she covered her mouth with one hand, eyes laughing as she watched Cullen grinning, arms crossed in the doorway, one of the keep's nursemaids standing behind him looking both amused and horrified at this treatment of the Herald of Andraste.  
  
Zima "died" dramatically, dropping onto the floor of the war room, and crying out, "Run, my lady, they are too many for me, but I will cover your escape if I can!" then collapsing limply, eyes closed, "daggers" crossed on her chest.  
  
Josephine glanced back, suddenly joining in the spirit of the game, and gently resisting the tug on her hands, "Oh, my brave defender is lost, and I am left helpless with these terrible bandits!"  
  
The Inquisitor lay perfectly still long enough for one of the youngest children to frown, leaning over to brush her short black hair out of her face and pull open one of her eyelids. "Inkistor?" she managed. Suddenly, Zima's eyes popped opened, and she grabbed the small child to begin tickling her, grinning and laughing maniacally.  
  
"Ah ha! I have fooled you all! I am really the wicked tickle monster from Nug marshes, and I have used your lady to lure you all in to be tickled!" She began darting toward one child after another, moving on her knees so she was almost the same height as they shrieked and ran screaming around the table, trying to stay out of her reach, but also ducking back within arm's reach as if daring her to grab them. Zima caught another child, tickling him just enough to make him shriek with laughter and squirm out of her grasp. By now, Josephine, Cullen, and the nursemaid were all openly laughing as Zima and the children kept the game up for several minutes more. When the Inquisitor was thoroughly out of breath and red-faced, the nursemaid stepped into the room, calling the children.  
  
"Now children, thank the Inquisitor and the Commander for a nice game, and let them go back to work." Zima sank down to sit on the floor, laughing breathlessly as several of the children paused to hug her before running toward the door. Cullen stopped the little girl with his helm long enough to reclaim his property, then crossed to offer Zima a hand up from the floor, wincing apparently from a few bruises. Josephine just shook her head at them as Leliana entered the room behind Cullen, eyes twinkling.  
  
"Commander, what inspired this?"  
  
Cullen set his helm on the table as Zima smoothed her clothes and hair back into place. "The children were playing in the courtyard when a horse broke loose from a groom and almost ran through them. We caught the horse, but the children were so upset, I thought they needed something to distract them from their fear. Then I remembered a conversation the Inquisitor and I had while playing chess a few days ago and thought I'd kill two birds with one stone."  
  
Zima finished straightening her clothes, her face still lit by a broad grin, eyes shining at Cullen. "I remember, you asked me what I missed most about my clan, and I told you that it seemed so silent here because I almost never hear or see children." She glanced at Josephine almost shyly. "In a Dalish camp, there is always the noise of children—playing, laughing, chattering, fighting, and crying. And all of the children belong to the whole clan, so almost every day I could stop and play with the children, or even just hold a baby so parents could eat their meal." She turned back to Cullen, gently resting a hand on his arm as she smiled up at him. "Thank you, Commander, you couldn't have given me a better present."  
  
Cullen chuckled and covered her hand, "Inquisitor, your laugh was all the thanks I need." Josephine exchanged a questioning look with Leliana who raised an eyebrow and pretended not to watch the two until suddenly Zima dropped her hand from his arm and turned back to the table abruptly. "I'm sorry Josephine, now where were we?"


	7. A Message

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A message from a Brother Harward  
> No violence, no romance (yet).  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.

Leliana looked up, an odd expression on her face. "One of my agents forwarded a message from the Free Marches, supposedly for the Herald of Andraste, but…it's not from Clan Lavellan, Inquisitor, it's from a chantry scholar named Harward. I'd think it was a mistake or someone trying to gain influence with the Inquisition, but he has your name right, Zima of Clan Lavellan." Leliana and Josephine both stared at Zima curiously as she simply held out her hand for the sheet of parchment which Leliana handed to her after a moment of hesitation. "You're Dalish, why would someone from the chantry know you by name?"

Zima's dark eyes quickly scanned the message, closing halfway through before opening and reading the rest of the brief note, slowly setting it down on the war table without meeting their eyes. "Thank you, Leliana. Yes, I know Brother Harward, and I'll have a letter to go back to him by tomorrow. Excuse me." To their surprise, she turned and left quickly, without looking up. The two women exchanged glances while Cassandra gaped at the door as it closed.

"What was that about?" Cullen frowned at Leliana before reaching across for the note.

"It's just a few lines, saying he was relieved to hear that Zima is alive and well, but that no one had heard from the Revered Mother who had gone to Haven. He seems to assume that Lavellan will know which Revered Mother he's talking about, but why would a brother ask a Dalish about a high ranking chantry priest?"

"Oh, Maker." Cullen scanned the lines rapidly. "I think I have an idea who he is asking about, someone who helped her once. I should…probably talk to her.

 

Cullen found Zima shooting arrows at an archery butt with an intense concentration that seemed to exclude everything around her. At another time, he might have taken time to simply enjoy the artistry as she rapidly placed arrow after arrow in a tight grouping in the center of the target, hardly seeming to aim. Although he was almost certain she had heard him approaching, she continued firing silently until her quiver was empty, then strode down the range to inspect their placement before drawing them and refilling her quiver. Only as she walked back toward the firing line did she finally meet his eyes reluctantly.

"I'm sorry, Lavellan, your friend, the chantry priest you said once saved you, she was at the Conclave, wasn't she?"

She turned at the firing line, fitting an arrow to the bow string, raising it and drawing back to fire, then lowering the bow and relaxing the string without firing. "Yes. I'd hoped she wasn't there, but I was very much afraid she had been, as a voice of moderation and sanity." Suddenly she raised the bow and fired the arrow into the center of the target as casually as a skilled carpenter might drive home a nail. "I know Leliana mourns Justinia, but Karina was the best person I've ever known, after my clan's Keeper. I don't think I ever told you the entire story, did I?" Slower now and without the grim intensity, she continued firing arrows into the target.

"Just that she once saved you and she helped you find teachers."

"I was scouting out a village to see if it would be safe for us to trade when a noble who was in the village for some reason noticed me, and somehow I felt vanishing quickly would be in my best interest." Her tone was wry, almost casual, but he noticed she drew the string back past her ear, and the next arrow she shot sunk unusually deeply into the butt. "I got out of his sight and went over a wall, planning to head for the outside edge of the village closest to some woods, but I dropped right into a chantry garden almost on top of a priest who was weeding some young plants. I'm not sure who was more startled. I was certain I'd gone from bad to worse, you understand, because if she'd tried to hold me, I could have gotten away, but I might also have injured her, which would very likely have meant reprisals against my clan and possibly every elf living in the area. I just stood there, praying to the Creators, and she looked as if she were about to demand an explanation when we heard a voice on the other side of the wall, giving guards instructions to find…" Zima hesitated, glancing at Cullen uncertainly, "well, I don't think I need to repeat what he called me. But that was apparently enough for Karina who put a finger over her lips and led me to a corner of the garden where two water barrels provided cover and signaled me to hide there. The noble actually entered the Chantry with his guards, but Karina sent him off with his tail singed, then she came back out into the garden and asked me if I'd like some tea." She fired one more arrow, a brief sad smile flashing across her face.

"Just like that, she invited you to take tea with her?" Cullen couldn't help letting a chuckle escape him.

"Yes. I was even more surprised when I realized that she'd recognized me as Dalish, but she just chatted about the healing herbs she had planted in the garden and asked if I'd mind telling her what my people used. After an hour or so, one of the lay brothers came into the garden and whispered something to her and she told me that the noble had ridden off to the southeast with his guards toward one of the larger estates in the area." Zima fired another arrow, a brief chuckle escaping her. "Then she told me I was welcome to visit any time, especially around mid-afternoon when she normally took an hour or two to work on the garden, and if I was uncomfortable entering through the chantry itself, I was welcome to come over the wall but please avoid landing on plants again if it wasn't an emergency. And just like that, she went inside and left me alone in the garden. I visited her three or four times---over the wall---before I found out that I'd almost landed on the Revered Mother herself." She fired the last arrow in her quiver before meeting his eyes.

"I think I'm beginning to understand why you were far more comfortable with the chantry and priests when we first found you than we expected."

Zima shook her head before walking down to draw her arrows from the butt again. "Oh, I was very uncomfortable in Haven, Commander; I was all too aware of how dangerous my situation was, and still is, but even more so for my people if I couldn't convince you and the chantry that I wasn't responsible for the Divine's death. And Karina never tried to pretend to me that I shouldn't be cautious around most priests; she just led me to take each priest, and each human, as an individual."

"She sounds as if she was a remarkable woman. If there had been more such women, and men, in the chantry, perhaps none of this would have happened."

"Corypheus took advantage of the situation, but he also manipulated it. I have to wonder how far back his influence on the mages and Templars extends, honestly. I just wish we could have saved both." She stared down the range again, then unstrung her bow with a sigh. "I should…work on the letter to Brother Harward, then get back to work. Apologize to Lady Josephine and Leliana for me, please, and ask them to give me about half an hour. After that, when they're ready to resume, send a messenger for me." Zima began to walk away, then turned back to him, resting a hand on his arm lightly, gratitude lightening her face just a little. "And thank you for worrying about me, Commander, you're a good friend."


	8. Homecoming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trying to play peacemaker.  
> No violence, no romance (yet).  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.

The guards' signal that riders were approaching brought Cullen upright, setting the report he was reading on his desk to stand up, then suddenly realizing he'd sat hunched for long enough to become stiff. Rotating his shoulders as he walked, he came out on the wall and leaned against the crenellation as he shaded his eyes. On the bridge that approached Skyhold, he could see four riders approaching at a brisk trot, the late afternoon sun behind them. The lead mount, however, was no horse, but an elegant horned stag, and he relaxed, idly watching as the guards at the gate prepared to meet the Inquisitor and her team. The slightly taller, heavily armored figure of Cassandra rode close enough beside Zima to talk, while behind them he could make out the slender figure of Sera to one side, and Solas to the other, well apart, and he grimaced. Scout Harding had reported privately that Zima had finally convinced Solas and Sera to stop sniping at each other by asking if she should take notes to give to Varric so he could include them in his next book. Apparently that was pointed enough even for the two of them, but from Harding's report, the Inquisitor hardly seemed phased by the conflict.

When the riders were almost at the gate, he started down the stairs from the battlements to meet them in the forecourt. Soldiers came running forward to take the reins of their mounts, while the gate guards saluted the Inquisitor before beginning to lower the gate. Sera dismounted stiffly, her face stormy as she grabbed her saddlebags and headed for the tavern, and Cassandra, grabbing her own saddlebags, paused briefly to slap Zima's knee companionably before heading toward her own room. Zima dismounted more slowly, smiling in a wordless greeting to Cullen before handing her saddlebags to a guard and politely asking them to be taken to her room. Then she took the reins of her stag, whom she never trusted to anyone else after a long ride, glancing back at Cullen in an invitation to follow. He signaled another guard silently to pass him a water skin and turned to to follow silently, then paused as he saw that Solas had intercepted the Inquisitor, speaking rapidly and softly. Zima shook her head tiredly, and her voice was just enough louder that he heard it.

"I know you didn't mean any harm, and I appreciate the apology, Solas, but you can't change people who don't want to change. My only interest is to have a team who works well together, and that isn't going to happen if you two are needling each other." She rested a graceful hand gently on his arm.

"You are right. Is that your only interest, though?" This time his words also carried to Cullen, who glanced around to see that the other mounts had been led away. Only Zima insisted on caring for her stag herself.

Zima said something that Cullen didn't hear, then added, "You're my first choice of mage, however much I may like Dorian, Solas, but I'll start taking him with me if I must."

Solas nodded, glancing past her to see Cullen waiting, and frowned. "I'm sorry, you need to rest. I would like to speak later, though, Lethallan. Commander."

Zima watched until Solas was on the stairs before raising an eyebrow at Cullen, a touch of humor in her face. "At moments like this, I appreciate everything Deshanna went through to keep the peace in our clan. Since I assume Leliana keeps up with everything, down to how often I wash my face, I don't have to ask if you already heard." She gently turned the hart toward its pen, letting Cullen follow.

"Just enough to worry a little." He leaned on the top rail of the fence, watching as she removed the saddle and tack, setting them aside to air until they were cleaned as she began gently going over every inch of the hart with a soft cloth. "Why do you keep taking both of them with you if they're that bad? I mean, even if you're more comfortable with elves, wouldn't replacing one of them be preferable?"

Zima stared at him over the hart's back, her dark blue eyes clearly surprised, then she began to giggle "Commander, have you ever listened to what Sera has to say about elves or Solas about the Dalish?"

He shifted, rubbing the back of his neck, still feeling the crick from sitting too long. "No, I admit, I have a hard time listening to her past the first few words she speaks most of the time, she isn't easy to follow."

Zima chuckled, coaxing the hart to lower his head so she could check his ears. "She was surprised, and not pleasantly, to find out I was an elf when we met and hoped I wasn't too 'elfie.' Honestly, even though I don't question their choices, they don't always do me the courtesy in return; sometimes I think anyone else would be a more comfortable companion than either Solas or Sera. I include the two of them most of the time because Sera's archery is devastating, and we need someone who keeps their distance from our fight, and Solas casts the best protections. You heard we took down the dragon in the Hinterlands? I'd been worried about a dragon being so close to the Crossroads and Redcliffe; that was the last thing they needed."

"We got word from the Crossroads when they heard. None of you were hurt, then?"

"Oh, a few cuts and bruises, especially Cassandra. I had a spectacular bruise on my…" she paused, eyes sliding away from his face as she changed the word she was going to use, "on my back from getting in the way of her tail once, knocked me fifteen feet at least. But Cassandra is better at holding attention on herself than anyone I've known, and Sera's archery when she's focused is as good or better than anyone the clans have to offer." She winked at him. "Just don't tell Sera I said that. But the fight went far better than we had a right to expect." She stroked the hart's neck lovingly, and he leaned into her caress with a snort before nosing his empty manger pointedly. "The stableman's making you a warm mash right now, Lethallin, and I'll make certain they bring you fresh hay and water." The hart turned his head to eye her, then tossed his head, making her laugh.

"What does that word mean, Letha…Lethalleen?"

She resumed rubbing down the hart, still chuckling, "Lethallin? It's hard to translate. Mostly, it's used for a clansman or male relative or just a close male friend. Our halla are part of our clans, not our servants, so I use it as an affectionate name to call Olen." The hart tossed his head again, then turned his head to nudge her gently.

"Is that what Solas called you, Lethallin?" Zima reached for the hart's water bucket, then paused, her brows drawing together as if trying to remember the conversation.

"I didn't notice, though was it maybe Lethallan, the word for a woman? How odd, I never noticed he'd begun to call me that." She picked up the water bucket, walking to the trough to wash it out carefully, then pumping fresh water into it. "I suppose it's because neither he nor I fit comfortably into either the elven or Dalish worlds. Well, at least he didn't call me Da'len. He used that once and discovered I do have a temper." He frowned, about to ask, but she just grinned, "No, it's nothing terrible. Roughly, it means 'child,' and something only a clan elder could call someone my age. I'm not about to accept that from someone neither part of my clan nor an elder."

Cullen saw the stableman approaching with the bucket of mash, and took it from him to hang from the fence for the hart who eyed him suspiciously with his left eye for a moment, then lowered his head slightly, leaving Cullen with the amused sense that the hart had thanked him. Zima returned with the full water bucket, fastening it firmly to its hook several feet from the mash bucket. "Back in Haven, you and Solas didn't seem to be on very friendly terms."

"We weren't." The stableman returned with a nice block of hay from a bale on the end of a pitchfork, and Zima took it from him to put it in the manger, expertly loosening the tightly packed strands with the pitchfork before handing it back to him with a smile of thanks. "Do me a favor and make certain she still has plenty tonight, and please ask someone to clean the tack. I don't think I'm going to be able to get back down here tonight."

"Of course, Inquisitor."

Zima leaned on the fence, watching her friend delicately take a few bites of the mash before nibbling a few strands of the hay from the manger. "Solas brought out the worst in me, Commander, he still does sometimes. I don't know why he is so angry with the Dalish; certainly my clan has never had contact with him unless he's older than he appears. But apparently my refusal to either insist the Dalish have everything right or to apologize for how we live and what we've managed to accomplish convinced him…of something, I'm not certain what. Once he dropped the defensive arrogance about the Dalish, well, he's fascinating to talk to, especially about the things he's seen in the Fade."

He straightened, taking her by the elbow and steering her toward the main stairs into the hall. "You should get something to eat before Leliana and Josephine want to meet to discuss what you accomplished and what we need to do next."

"And get a bath, a real bath. Creators, I've gotten soft, but I will never get tired of hot baths." She wrinkled her nose as she tugged at the collar of her shirt.

Cullen grinned down at her. "And fresh bread?"

"Oh, don't remind me. We've had nothing but flat breads for the past week." Abruptly she changed the subject. "Did Leliana's spy mention just what set off this latest disagreement between Sera and Solas?"

"Just that she played a prank of some sort on him."

Zima began giggling again, covering her mouth. "Somehow she coaxed about a dozen lizards into his bedroll. I shouldn't, it really did set things off worse than they were, but his yelp when he found them was hilarious. Fortunately, he's lived in the wilderness long enough to know to shake out his bedroll before getting into it."


	9. Dragon Hunt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The children return  
> No violence, no romance (yet).  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.

"And Derzka found herself staring up into the face of a very big, very angry dragon who roared at her and said 'you trespass, little one, tell me why I shouldn't eat you!'" Cullen was passing by a secluded corner of the garden when he heard those words in Zima's soft voice, answered by gasps and excited murmurs. Quietly, he approached, peeking around a bush to see Zima sitting on the ground with a small boy in her lap, while other children leaned against her or sat in a half-moon circle in front of her, listening intently to her words.

"What happened to Derzka then?"

"She was very frightened, of course, who wouldn't be if a dragon caught you near her horde? But Derzka wasn't just bold, she was also very clever, and she flipped her tail as if she had not a care in the world and responded, 'Eat me? Why, I'm not even a morsel for a mighty creature such as you! You should be dining on fat sheep and goats and pigs!'

"Well, the dragon stared at her, then sighed. 'The farmers have moved their herds too far away for me to reach, and the wild game in the area have learned my scent and hide when I come near where I cannot follow them. You are right that you aren't even a morsel, but why should I let you go?'

"Derzka stared up at the dragon as if the answer was obvious. 'But mighty lady, I can travel through the trees as quick as the wind, and the game will not flee from _my_ scent. I can find where the farmers have moved their herds and where the wild game is hiding, and then bring you word so you can hunt for a proper meal. I know there are fat mountain sheep not that far away, and surely they would be more to your taste than a thin little squirrel?'"

Cullen grinned to himself as he realized he'd become almost as caught up in her story as the children, and now that he knew what Derzka was, he couldn't help picturing a squirrel flipping her tail at a dragon in false bravado.

"Well, the dragon sat back on her haunches, thinking, while Derzka sat still, staring into the dragon's face as if completely unafraid. Finally, the dragon said, 'Very well, little one, since you have not stolen anything you may make the attempt. But if you do not return within the day, I will track you down no matter what it takes.'

"Derzka bowed and began to back away toward the hole in the cave wall where she had entered. The dragon turned her head as if to check her horde, and Derzka fled through the hole, grabbing the broach she had found earlier and hidden there, afraid it was more dangerous to leave it in the tunnel as evidence she had stolen something before she was caught."

"Did Derzka find wild sheep for the dragon?" One of the older children looked skeptical.

"No, she had no intention of doing that, but she guessed that the dragon was hungry enough to take the chance that she could lead her to game. Derzka also thought it likely that the dragon would eat her anyway even if she did what she'd offered, especially if she discovered the broach was missing. Now, a few dragons can track very well by scent, so Derzka decided she would hide the broach while she concealed her scent with some strong smelling plants that often worked to fool wolves and foxes, then flee with her prize into human lands. But these plants grow in swamps, and when she was trying to reach them, she slipped and fell into quicksand."

The children gasped, and the boy in her lap leaned closer into her arm, as if for reassurance. "Derzka called for help, but since so many animals had fled the dragon, she was surprised when a Dalish hunter appeared and pulled her from the quicksand. Until that moment, she hadn't known any Dalish had wandered into the area, but this was almost as alarming as the dragon because the Dalish sometimes hunt squirrels when there is little larger game. But this Dalish had a kind heart, too kind some of her clan would say, and instead of killing the squirrel to feed her clan, she took pity on the mud-covered creature and used water and a cloth to clean her up, letting her go. 'How did you get yourself into something like this, little sister; squirrels aren't usually so careless?'"

"Well, you can imagine this surprised Derzka, but she now owed a debt to the hunter, and a wise creature knows he or she must pay his debts. 'The dragon who claims these lands caught me in her cave. I tricked her into letting me go, but I was going to use this skunk cabbage to hide my scent and flee before she tracked me down.'"

"'A dragon!' The hunter was alarmed, but stared back the way she'd come. 'Thank you for the warning, but that is terrible news, little sister, because my clan has been driven here by enemies, and we cannot turn back. That explains why we've seen so little game, but I don't know how we can get our clan past the dragon, especially the halla.'"

"What's a halla?" One of the little girls leaning against her side asked curiously.

"They are the four footed brothers and sisters of the Dalish. They look like very large deer to you, but unlike your horses, they choose to help us in exchange for our protection from predators, and a dragon is a _very_ large predator." Zima ruffled the red hair of the little girl who giggled and pushed her hand away. "So, Derzka flipped her tail impatiently at the hunter, 'You are Dalish, you have many hunters with bows who can bring even a dragon down.' The hunter shook her head. 'Only if we can keep the dragon at a distance long enough to do enough damage; their skin is very tough, I'm told, and even our arrows cannot pierce them easily. I and one or two others could hold the dragon's attention, but our shields will not turn a dragon's breath even if we knew what kind it was.'

"Derzka thought back to the dragon's cave and the scents within it. 'The dragon's cave smelled…like the air during a very bad storm, the kind that brings down trees and starts fires.'

"Lightning, perhaps." The hunter crouched, staring off into the distance with such a sad look that the squirrel found herself wanting to help. She scampered to the nearby tree where she had concealed the broach and brought it back to the Dalish." At this moment, Zima glanced up, catching sight of Cullen listening from behind the bush, and winked at him.

"'This was hidden in the dragon's cave, apart from the rest of her horde, and I thought it might be important. Do you think it might help?' The hunter took the broach and examined it, shaking her head. 'I don't know, but perhaps my Keeper can tell. Will you trust me to come to our camp so you can show us the way to the dragon's lair?'

"Derzka thought of entering a camp of hunters and almost refused, but she remembered how this hunter had rescued her and how she had treated her kindly, and so she agreed."

Zima shifted slightly, her voice dropping a little more so the children had to listen even more closely. "The hunter's clan was frightened that they had stumbled into a dragon's hunting ground, but the Keeper listened closely to the hunter, Stoika, and to Derzka, then examined the broach. 'I can almost make out the symbols on this broach; I think, little sister, that you have taken the thing the dragon most fears from her horde.' So the Keeper ordered the best archers in the clan to prepare and then armed Stoika with a fine sword and shield, then pinned the neck of her padded gambeson with the broach before securing it with needle and thread so it could not be torn free. Then the Keeper helped Stoika don the only full set of mail that the clan possessed, made from a marvelous wood found only in the far eastern woods of Fereldan, the Ironbark. Then the Keeper led the rest of the clan into hiding while little Derzka guided Stoika and her hunters to the entrance of the dragon's cave.

"No sooner had Stoika arranged her hunters in the cover of bushes and trees when the dragon apparently caught scent of them and stalked out of her cave, growling with sparks of lightning around her head. Stoika stood in the middle of the clearing, calling a challenge at the dragon, braced with her shield and sword ready, and then while the hunters hailed arrows down on the dragon, she exhaled at Stoika, a ball of lightning that enveloped her and hid her briefly from view." The children gasped again, eyes wide. "The hunters were all afraid she had already been lost, but they kept shooting arrows at the dragon rather than running because they knew this was the clan's only chance to get past safely. Then the ball of lightning vanished, and Stoika stood unmoved, though it's said that her hair stood on end like this." Zima took locks of the small boy's hair and held them straight out from his head, making the other children giggle.

"The Keeper had been right, the broach was a defense against the dragon's greatest weapon and so she had tried to conceal it, but even without her breath, she was a fierce monster, and no more than one arrow in ten pierced her hide enough to actually hurt her. It was a terrible battle, and several times hunters barely dived out of the way of the lightning she breathed at them, and three times the dragon struck Stoika and knocked her to the ground so that the hunters were afraid she wouldn't get up." Cullen watched as the small girl slipped her head under Zima's arm as if hiding. "But the mail she wore was the finest the Dalish can make, and while she was badly bruised, she was able to get up each time and draw the dragon's attention back to her. Finally, so many arrows had pierced the dragon's legs that one collapsed under her, and several of the hunters who had also trained with long spears for boar hunts closed and drove their spears through her eye and into her head. And a cheer went up as the dragon sank to the ground, shuddering as she died."

"What happened then?" One of the older boys asked eagerly.

"Well, Stoika sank to her knees, exhausted and winded, but still well, while the hunters cheered. But as soon as Stoika could remove her helm and speak, she told them to remember who they owed this victory to and to find Derzka."

"Was Derzka alright?"

"Oh, of course, she wasn't going to stay close enough to _that_ battle to risk being hurt. No, Derzka had immediately taken advantage of the fight to sneak into the dragon's cave, looking for something shiny to replace the broach she'd given Stoika. What squirrel would pass up a chance like that?" The children giggled. "So the hunters found her in the dragon's cave with half a dozen gold and silver rings slid onto her arms and a gold chain bracelet set with rubies around her neck like a long necklace. The hunters brought her to Stoika who bowed to her and thanked Derzka for warning their clan, offering back the broach that saved Stoika and the other hunters while the hunters returned to the cave to search for the rest of the dragon's horde. Derzka looked at the broach longingly, then shook her head, saying 'no, that was your reward for saving my life, I cannot take it back.'"

"But you saved our whole clan with your warning. To repay you, you are welcome to travel with our clan, and we will feed you and protect you as long as you want to live as one of our clan."

"And I can keep my shinies?"

"Stoika laughed, lifting the squirrel in her arms, as the other hunters came out of the cave with enough gold and gems to barter with villages for several years for things they could not make themselves. 'Of course you may. And we will hunt acorns and nuts for you and we will make fresh flatbreads for you if you like every day.'

"So Derzka became a part of Stoika's clan for a year or two before she found a mate and left them. But Stoika never forgot the debt she owed the little squirrel, and she named her first daughter Derzka after the cheeky squirrel thief who saved their clan." Zima ruffled the hair of the boy in her lap again, grinning down at the little girl who had almost wriggled in next to him. "And that's why there is a Dalish clan who sometimes name a little girl after a squirrel, in the hopes she will be brave and clever and bring good luck to their clan."

Cullen was about to turn away, grinning in enjoyment at the story when he heard Zima adding. "Now, children, remember what I told you? There's a big lion hiding behind that bush over there, so circle around and surround him the way I taught you, then close in on him." Zima's mischievous eyes met his as the children giggled and circled the bush he was behind. "Now!" He suddenly found himself being pelted with grapes, with some of the older children using long strips of cloth as a sling to throw the grapes.

"Rahrrr!" He suddenly charged out of the bush, first toward one shrieking, laughing child after another as they ran from him.

"Close back in around him, don't let him break the circle around him!"

They kept the game up for several minutes until the children's guardian arrived with a basket full of bread rolls and cheese for the children's lunches, brought to a speechless halt by the sight of the Inquisition's commander taking a grape to the center of his forehead and dying dramatically to be mobbed by the smallest children. Zima could hardly stop laughing enough to tell the children that the game was over, helping to remove the children so he could get back to his feet while the nursemaid reminded them to thank both the Inquisitor and the Commander.

When they'd been escorted away, waving back at the two, Zima grinned at him. "Eavesdropping on my story? How much did you hear?"

"I think I walked by just as Derzka was discovered by the dragon." He grinned back at her. "You sound as if you have a lot of practice telling stories to children."

"I've never told them to non-Dalish children, but yes, I found it was a good way to get them to settle down after supper to give their parents a few minutes of quiet to talk. Dalish children know stories like that so well that they can finish the lines for you, but I left out some things I didn't think these children would understand." She brushed the grass from her clothes and retrieved a mug from where she'd been sitting.

"What did you leave out?" He asked curiously as he removed a grape that had somehow gotten lodged in his vambrace.

"Oh, in the Dalish story, the Keeper's First helps fight the dragon, using magic to protect the hunters from the dragon's breath, little things that are different in how magic is seen among the Dalish." She took a long drink of the contents of her mug, sigh with satisfaction. "Dalish children's stories are teaching stories though, and I've been teaching them how to work together to protect themselves, at least briefly if necessary. Hopefully they'll remember that fighting is not only dangerous, but wars aren't won by one person alone but by a group of people working together."

"Speaking of working together," he grinned, "I think Josephine was looking for you for more court etiquette lessons."

Cullen laughed as Zima rolled her eyes and groaned. "I'd rather go clean Olen's pen, the muck is cleaner. Ah, well, I escaped for a few minutes, I suppose I should go let her pretend that a Dalish elf at the Imperial court is going to be anything other than a disaster. Chess after supper tonight if I can get free?"

"Absolutely, I'll even get the mint tea from the cooks so you can wash the taste of the muck out."

With a chuckle, she headed for the stairs.


	10. Good Luck

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A gift from King Alistair  
> I'm sorry this one took a while to get written  
> No violence, no romance (yet).  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.

“And you learned how to do this from observing dreams?”

            “The method is simple enough to observe, and the artisans often spoke their thoughts and feelings aloud as they worked, so yes.” Cullen stepped into the rotunda to find Zima with one hip resting on Solas’s work table, and the mage standing next to her, leaning close and pointing up at a vivid figure that stretched at least five meters above the floor. Cullen stared at the figure, then at the other highly stylized frescos that surrounded almost half of the walls of the rotunda. The first figure was instantly recognizable as Corypheus, dark and forbidding, hands cupped around a glowing orb with a line of power downward to a building in flames while orange ripples spread across the sky behind him toward the mountains framing him on either side.

            Cullen had heard about the elven-style frescos that the apostate had been working on, but he hadn’t been prepared for either the emotional impact or the vaguely alien quality. He’d just begun to study the second when he realized that Solas’s voice had tapered off, and tore his eyes away to see that both elves were looking at him questioningly.

            “Commander, is something wrong?” Zima stood up from the desk, moving a step away from Solas, dark brows drawn together in concern.

            “Nothing, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt. Solas, these are…extraordinary, I’ve never seen anything like them.” He gestured at the frescos, head tilted back to view them more clearly, suddenly regretting that he hadn’t visited sooner, perhaps seen one of them in progress.

            “I would be surprised if you had; according to the Inquisitor, very few even of the Dalish clans have retained the knowledge of this craft.” Solas regarded him with the same cool, almost amused expression he had shown toward the ex-Templar on the few occasions they had spoken directly, but this time Cullen felt a hint of irritation at the interruption. “I am more surprised to hear a human express admiration for a simple elvhen art form; certainly the nobles here find it ‘quaint,’”

            Zima chuckled, “But they come to gaze in wonder—when you aren’t here to frighten them—even if they have to pretend they aren’t impressed, or so Leliana’s spies say.”

            Both men stared at her in surprise. “Do they really?”

            “They’re nobles which means bored, while this is unique and lovely and terrifying all at the same time.” She grinned. “I asked Josephine after I disturbed a group in here staring one day, and she explained both why they are fascinated and why they have to pretend they are not.” Zima shrugged, adjusted the bandolier with her long knives. “In any case, I assume you needed one of us, Commander?”

            Cullen forced his thoughts back to the present and nodded. “The king of Ferelden has sent a gift to the Inquisition; Leliana sent me to get you so you can send a message of thanks back to Denerim.”

            She chuckled again, brushing her dark hair back from her face. “If it were some other noble, I’d be worried I needed to think of some way to act delighted by another gift of pale pink or lavender silk lace or some bauble or relic, but based on Leliana’s stories and his letters, somehow I think I’ll be much more pleasantly surprised.” Zima touched Solas’s arm lightly in apology, then followed Cullen back out the outer door and the walkway to his tower.

            “I hope so, I certainly was. I’m sorry I interrupted, though; the Inquisition makes so many demands on your time.”

            “Solas knows things about my people’s history that we have forgotten; I feel I owe it to Keeper Deshanna to learn everything I can to pass on to her.” As they approached his door, she could hear muffled noises through it, and dark blue eyes met amber ones questioningly. “Is that what it sounds like?”

            Cullen just grinned and pushed the door open. “Better get inside quickly.” He watched the Dalish woman enter warily, freezing just a foot or two inside the door as four young mabari pups tumbled over each other to greet them. “It’s a very Fereldan gift, I’m afraid.” A stiff, middle-aged woman with red hair stood next to Cullen’s desk, studying Zima with sharp, wary eyes.

            “They’re mabari, aren’t they, the Fereldan war hounds?” The puppies swarmed around her ankles in greeting, yipping happily, and she carefully stooped down to offer her fingers to them to sniff. Two puppies instantly began to bathe her hand, while a third grabbed her sash and began to tug on it, growling with puppy fierceness. The fourth, however, stumbled over to Cullen, sitting down in front of him and wagging her short tail in enthusiastic greeting, barking at him.

            “Aye, that they are, my lady Inquisitor.” The woman seemed to unbend a little. “I was sent as their handler and trainer, at least until they’re grown and trained. They seem to like you, that’s good. They don’t take to everyone. No disrespect meant, but I thought Alis…his majesty was daft to be sending mabari to a Dalish, Herald of Andraste or no, especially not pups from _this_ line.”

            Zima’s lips twitched at the woman’s blunt honesty as well as her almost casual use of the king’s given name, but she simply smiled and asked, “And what line would that be?”

            “A mabari bonded to the hero of Ferelden; he sired two litters of pups on bitches in King Alistair’s kennels before he left with the hero. These are the great-grandchildren of Stoika.”

            “A noble gift indeed.” Zima carefully drew her sash from the mouth of the puppy, barely avoiding tiny sharp teeth clamping playfully on her hand. “Wait, did you say he named him Stoika?”

            “Sure and he did, he said it was a Dalish name.” The handler narrowed her eyes at her. “He wasn’t the same clan as you, was he? I thought the king said his clan was Sabrae and yours is Lavellan.” Surprisingly, the woman accented the clan name correctly.

            “I think Warden Commander Misha and I are distant cousins through my father.” Zima grinned at Cullen who was holding the pup who had demanded his attention. “Do you remember hearing the name, Stoika, Commander?”

            “No…um, wait, the story you told to the children, wasn’t that the name of the hunter?” The puppy surprised a bark of laughter from him when she lunged upwards to lick his cheek.

            “Yes.” Zima stood, laughing softly. “It seems you have made a friend, Commander.”

            “I suppose I have.” He froze, glancing at the trainer who had a sly grin.

            “Well, she’s young yet, so it’s hard to be certain, but I think she’s chosen you, Commander. Seems appropriate.” Cullen had a stunned look, broken when the puppy started licking his fur collar. “And from the way those three are swarming your feet, Inquisitor, I don’t think it would take much to coax one of them into imprinting on you as well.”

            Zima’s face lit up for a moment, then she shook her head regretfully. “I wish it were possible… Our stories say the Emerald knights in the Dales had wolves who bonded with them, the knights’ guardians, but I suppose they all died with the knights. It would make me feel like I was keeping that alive; but I’m so rarely in Skyhold, and these are, what, eight or nine weeks old? Far too young to take out into the field with me and it wouldn’t be fair to one of them to leave them alone so much. I think it’s better if they’re imprinted on some of Cullen’s officers.” She straightened with a determined smile and crossed to stroke the puppy Cullen had managed to detach from his collar, though Cullen knew her well enough now to suspect that she was hiding disappointment. “What are you going to name her?”

            At that moment, the pup almost squirmed out of his hands, and he chuckled shakily. “I think Derzka would be appropriate, don’t you?”

            Zima’s eyes lit up and if the trainer hadn’t been present and watching, he suspected she would have giggled. “Absolutely. And there must always be a girl named Derzka in Stoika’s line, in the hope she will be brave and clever and bring you good luck, Commander.”

 


	11. Sacrifice and Doubt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zima struggles with her newly regained memories after Here Lies the Abyss
> 
> Note: this and the next chapter or two aren't particularly humorous, but fit my sense of their friendship and events. The humor will return.   
> No violence, no romance (yet). Also, I'm a big fan of Solas; this is just how I think one Inquisitor's interactions might go, given some of his actions and comments.  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.

Josephine met Cullen in the courtyard as he handed his mount off to one of the stablemen. She didn’t need to say anything for him to recognize both that she was troubled and that she didn’t want to speak of it publicly. He was even more concerned when she led him into an empty War room and simply handed him a report; it was completely unlike Leliana to be absent, and almost as worrying that neither the Inquisitor nor any of those who’d accompanied her to Adamant were there. Quickly he skimmed through it, pausing several times to meet Josephine’s eyes wordlessly. Finally, he slowly laid the report down on the map table.

“Maker’s breath. I take it Leliana’s read this?”

“Yes, she’s the only one outside of the group who was with Lavellan who knows exactly what happened. She…is taking it hard.” A corner of his mind cynically noted that Zima would be pleased that Josephine had dropped the Herald title, but he pushed that thought away as well as the implications for his Dalish friend in the long term.

“I would imagine Cassandra is as well, especially since she was in the Fade and saw. Where is Lavellan?”

Josephine shrugged helplessly. “I’m not sure. When she returned, she handed the report to Leliana, said ‘I’m sorry,’ and vanished; you know how good she is at disappearing once she has someone looking at something. Neither Cassandra nor Varric said anything either, and Solas just told us we needed to read the report.”

Cullen rubbed the back of his neck tiredly. “It may not really change anything, but that discussion needs to wait. First things first, you find Leliana and I’ll find Lavellan. Someone needs to talk to Cassandra later, but Leliana was much closer to the Divine than Cassandra was. And Lavellan…”

“...Will be berating herself for letting Stroud stay in the Fade instead of herself.” Josephine smiled slightly, but without much humor. “A wise idea, Commander.”

  

 

Rather than search every hidden corner of Skyhold, which he suspected Zima knew far better than he did, he found the houndmaster (who had a name that no one could ever seem to remember) and borrowed Derzka. While mabaris couldn’t match the tracking ability of an Orlesian courser, they did have a knack of locating people they knew and liked (or disliked) who were nearby. Cullen took her to the stable to let her sniff Zima’s saddle, then let her lead him, surprisingly, up onto the battlements and to the foot a ladder in a particularly tall, still ruined tower. Scooping the wriggling puppy (who had doubled her size since she arrived) close to his chest, he climbed the ladder, poking his head through into the open air.

Zima leaned against one of the crenellations, staring off at the mountains in the distance, her short black hair tied down by a band of twisted cloth to keep the wind from whipping it into her eyes. Without turning, she commented, “I take it you read our report?”

Derzka squirmed out of Cullen’s grasp, running across the roof to wriggle his tail in the air at her, front close to the ground, barking happily. Zima turned and slid to sit on the roof, back against the stone while Derzka jumped into her lap, trying to bathe her face. “Yes, Josephine showed it to me. She’s gone to talk to Leliana.”

She stroked Derzka who slowly began to calm, though licking Zima’s hands enthusiastically to convey how much she’d missed this elf-friend. “I should have stayed and been the one to talk to her, but I just…couldn’t face her right now.” She shrugged, still not meeting his eyes. “I’m afraid I’m a coward about some things, Commander; I just couldn’t look her in the eye, knowing I escaped and her Justinia didn’t.”

“The way you can’t look at me now?” He squatted down a few feet away, leaning back against a corner of the tower, watching her bite her lip before finally raising her eyes from Derzka.

“I guess.” He watched complex emotions playing across her face and waited. “I’m sorry, neither the Maker nor Andraste saved me at Haven. I know this could weaken the Inquisition’s position, so much has depended on people’s faith that I’m the Herald of Andraste.” She glanced briefly down at Derzka, who was yawning and settling in comfortably, as if for a nap, then her dark blue eyes met Cullen’s apologetically.

“You never lied to us, you have nothing to apologize for.”

“Don’t I? I’m alive because people keep sacrificing themselves for me. Justinia, Stroud, that future Cassandra, Solas, and Sera, even Hawke volunteered to stay in the Fade to allow us to escape. Why me? I’m no one, just an elf who isn’t quite Dalish and isn’t quite part of your world.” She paused for a moment, chewing her lower lip, and he waited silently for her to continue. “Do you know why I left Stroud behind? Hawke and Varric have more personal responsibility for a lot of what’s going on, after all. But he was a Warden and had been one for decades, which means he probably didn’t have much longer before he faced his real Calling. Simple math between him and Hawke, and my sense that this gave Stroud’s death more meaning than anonymously in the Deep Roads. We have no way to know how much help killing darkspawn individually even accomplishes; they may simply breed faster to replace them. At that moment, I felt I was giving him a hero’s death that he deserved. Now, I just feel like a coward—I should have been the one to stay behind since I’m only here by accident.”

She turned her face back down to Derzka, while Cullen spoke softly, “You think Corypheus was right and this proves you were a mistake?”

“Yes.” Her voice was so soft he would have missed it if he hadn’t been listening for it.

“Lavellan, would a _mistake_ have closed the breach, faced down Corypheus and his dragon, united and led the Inquisition, risked herself repeatedly for us? Maker’s breath, none of us could have done what you’ve done. Just because it wasn’t Andraste herself who saved you doesn’t mean you were a mistake or even an accident.” Her head snapped up in surprise, the mabari puppy stirring in his sleep at her motion until Zima gently laid a slender hand on her head.

“You…really think that?”

“I know that.” He tried to convey his confidence in her through her voice, rewarded by a relaxation of some of the tension in her shoulders.

“I was afraid all of you would consider me a poor exchange for Justinia, an imposter, a mistake. Or even blame me for Justinia’s death after all.” She leaned her head back against the wall, her eyes gazing at the tower which held her room, her mask of calmness slipping a little more to reveal uncertainly and self-doubt. “I suppose Josephine and Leliana will want to keep that a secret, at least while they need people to have faith in the Inquisition. But Justinia’s the real hero, you know. She fought Corypheus with everything she had. If she hadn’t tried to interrupt his ritual, knocked the globe from his hand, he would have succeeded. Everything she did in the Fade the first time…I was just an elf, and not only that, a Dalish elf who doesn’t follow the Chantry. She could have left me behind at one point, and I think she could have escaped if she had abandoned me there, but she didn’t.”

“You’re right, of course.” He paused for a moment, thinking through his own confused feelings. “Justinia may have interrupted his ritual, but so did you, distracting him to give her that opportunity. You picked up that orb that gave you the anchor, that kept it from him, and the anchor has given you a weapon to fight him. Just because Andraste didn’t appear personally to escort you through the Fade doesn’t mean the Maker hasn’t guided you to be in the right place, unless you think just anyone would have accepted that power and not used it for selfish reasons.” He paused, wondering if perhaps he’d overstepped the limits of their friendship. “I know you don’t believe in the Maker, or, well, you said you do, you just don’t worship him…” Cullen trailed off, not quite sure himself what he’d been trying to say, but she nodded, still staring off into the distance.

“It hasn’t escaped my notice that a high ranking Chantry priest has twice saved me, three times if you count whoever or whatever we met wearing her shape in the Fade this time. I…” she shook her head slowly, then met his gaze, eyes troubled. “I believe in our Creators, I just doubt what they are, and they have been silent for so long. But the Maker always seemed to care only for humans. The Exalted March against the Dales was called in his name, after all, and elves have never had any real role in the Chantry, even Karina admitted that.”

“The Chantry has often spoken more in its own interests than worrying about what Andraste said or the Maker wants. You told me that you’d read the Book of Shartan, so you know there was a time that things were different.” He shifted, sitting down in a more comfortable position. “You sound as if you’re struggling with what you believe.”

“When everyone thought it was Andraste who saved me, it was easy to dismiss as wishful thinking, humans hoping for a sign from their god.” Zima met his eyes apologetically for just a moment. “But Justinia, I _know_ she was real, I know she saved me, and I can’t help seeing what that implies and that scares me. The strength of her faith—if the hand of a god was on anyone, it was on her. The Dalish have our own gods, even if they’re silent; why would the Maker take an interest in me and risk drawing their attention?” She chewed her lower lip in that habit he’d noticed which meant she was thinking hard and not necessarily liking the direction of her thoughts. “It’s bad enough that an ancient magister-darkspawn who wants to be a god is after me, why do I feel like it won’t end well for me if I’m also caught between the Maker and my gods if that is what’s going on? Will they let me continue to walk a path between them and not choose?” Then she shrugged. “And it won’t exactly make me more popular with my own clan if I admit I think the Maker has taken an interest in me, however indirectly, you know. But people need to believe that for now.” Derzka shifted in her sleep, rolling over onto her back, paws limp, drawing a slight, tired smile from Zima.

“I have no answers for you. But don’t drown yourself in guilt for things you’ve had no control over, or for making the best decisions you can when you’ve had to. It’s one thing to admit you’ve done something wrong and try to fix it or atone for it; it’s another when you had no good decision, like in the Fade. Thedas still needs you against Corypheus; you know no one would have let you stay behind. Six people would have died instead of one, and the Inquisition would have been leaderless and the Wardens lost.”

She grimaced. “Maybe. Though the Wardens… Cassandra wasn’t very happy with my decision, and Solas and I…had words. Yes, they’re a risk, but we _know_ they’re a risk now; and we still need them. Part of the reason the blight was almost a disaster in Ferelden was there were so few Wardens there. The darkspawn may not be intelligent, but the archdemons are, and surely it’s occurred to you that it was no coincidence that the archdemon appeared where there were so few wardens?”

“I don’t disagree.” Cullen suddenly shifted topics, uncomfortable with being reminded of the events during the blight. “The thing you encountered in the Fade who had Justinia’s form, do you think it really may have been Justinia, or something that at least had some of her memories? I hesitate to assume it was a demon after the way it aided you.”

Zima ran a hand through her hair tiredly. “I honestly don’t know, Commander. I don’t know if a person’s spirit can linger in the Fade or not, but if they can, it might have been her, especially if strength of will or faith is what’s required. I think it’s more likely it was a…spirit who had some of her memories. I can’t otherwise explain her message to Leliana.” Then she snorted. “The one person who might be able to tell us isn’t talking. When Solas tried to argue with me about my decision regarding the Wardens, I asked him why he hadn’t spoken up in the Fade to tell us what she was. That shut him right up.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow at her questioningly, “You said you two had words, is everything alright?”

She shook her head quickly. “Yes, he apologized later, and we made up. He still isn’t answering questions about what that was, though.” After a couple of minutes of silence as she lightly stroked the belly of the sleeping puppy, she sighed, scooping the limp puppy up to stand and pass her to Cullen. “I’ve hidden long enough. I should probably see how Cassandra is doing. I’m glad Josephine went to Leliana, though, I’m still not sure I’m ready to face her.” Zima paused, touching his shoulder lightly. “And thank you.”

“Never think you were a mistake, Lavellan. Whatever else Justinia might have been able to do if she survived, I don’t think she could have fought Corypheus the way you have.” He was rewarded with a ghost of her normal smile as she turned toward the ladder, ducking her head.


	12. Dreams

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Uncomfortable dreams and memories, and an almost romance.  
> Note: I adore Solas. This is just my interpretation of how one person might react to what he does.  
> No violence, no actual romance (yet).  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.

Cullen was walking slowly, balancing the teapot, mugs with spoons rattling in them, and a small pot of honey, so heard Dorian and Zima’s voices before he came in sight of them at the chess board.

“My dear Inquisitor, how can I possibly win when you are so charmingly distracting?” The outrageous flirtatiousness of Dorian’s voice didn’t surprise Cullen; he’d heard him use that tone on Zima before. What was surprising was the lightness in the way she answered.

“Then I have to take advantage of that distraction, my dear. Besides, the game is mine in two moves, in case you hadn’t noticed.”

Cullen came around the bush, and saw Dorian stand up from his chair and bow to the Inquisitor with a dramatic flourish that had her covering her mouth to smother her giggle, her eyes twinkling at the dark haired mage. Just then Dorian spotted Cullen and gestured to the chair he had just vacated. “And here comes someone who can give you a proper challenge. And he bears gifts!” Dorian walked over to relieve Cullen of his pot of tea.

“So, afraid I’m too challenging for you?” Zima winked at Cullen, seemingly in a light-hearted mood.

“The only one brave enough to risk _that_ challenge, my dear, is a bald apostate, unless I misjudge …”

Both men were startled when the smile abruptly slipped from her face. “Dorian, don’t.”

“I’m sorry, I thought….” His voice trailed off as she stared down at the chess board, fidgeting with one of the pieces.

“No.” She finally glanced up briefly at Dorian, her face red. “It’s alright, Dorian, honestly.” Zima quickly looked back down, beginning to arrange the pieces for her match with Cullen with a grim concentration.

Dorian hesitated, shaking his head at Cullen’s scowl and nodding toward the seat across from the elf who was hunched intently over the board and silently mouthed “talk to her.” Then instead of taking his normal pose leaning against a column to watch and tease both of them, he cheerfully stretched, his voice carefully light. “Since the commander has provided us with a lovely pot of tea, I think I’ll see if the kitchen has any cakes to go with it. Don’t beat the commander too quickly, my dear, I like to watch his face when you do.”

Cullen sat down across from her, pouring tea into one of the mugs and pushing it across to her with the honey which he knew she loved. They played in uncomfortable silence for a minute or two until finally she met his eyes, her lower lip between her teeth. “I’m sorry, I’m being rude.”

“It’s alright. I just hadn’t been aware that…” He trailed off awkwardly, not sure how to ask such a personal question, but worried, especially if it involved an apostate mage.

“Solas and I? No. I…got scared and ran before it went anywhere.” She shrugged. “I told you I can be a coward about some things.”

“Did he do something that scared you?” Cullen straightened, a scowl on his face, surprised a little at his own reaction to the thought. Her eyes widened, startled by his reaction, then she shook her head, laughing shakily.

“No, nothing like that. And it wasn’t intentional. I just hadn’t really thought through the implications of what he is and does.” She picked up a captured pawn and leaned back in her chair, playing with it.

“I don’t understand.”

“He _dreams_. And in his dreams he can see other people’s dreams. And…” she hesitated, dark blue eyes fixed on the pawn, “he can walk into those dreams. Or maybe something he does made it possible for me to walk into his dream, but when I woke up and realized he remembered our…dream conversation in the Fade, it terrified me.” She chewed her lip, then abruptly set down the pawn and picked up her mug of tea.

“He talked to you in a dream?” Cullen leaned back, cupping his mug between his hands thoughtfully, watching her face and the way she avoided his eyes, the slight shake of her hands, and remembering the woman who had walked out of the chantry in Haven to face Corypheus and death in perfect control of herself.

“Yes. Maybe it’s foolish, but the idea that someone could know what I dreamed terrifies me. I mean, I knew what he did, but I assumed it was only old memories and dreams, people who’ve been dead so long no one remembers their names, not things people are dreaming now. Not _my_ dreams and memories. It’s the idea that I could never be certain if I was having a conversation awake or asleep, whether that person could look at my every memory, know everything I’ve ever dreamed, my worst nightmares.” She gulped the tea quickly, eyes fixed on the board. “It’s one thing to choose to share those things with someone; it’s another thing entirely to never know just how much that person knows about you, might use to manipulate you.”

Cullen felt the icy touch of memory, and quickly brought the mug to his lips, struggling briefly with a surge of images that threatened to overwhelm him. The idea of someone seeing his nightmares, his  _memories_ of Kinloch left him shaking. Hiding his face with the mug and inhaling the steam instead of actual trying to force the hot liquid past his lips as his own hands trembled, he brought himself back under control. "I think that's…a reasonable reaction. Blood mages are feared exactly because they can invade your mind; not that this sounds the same, but still…"

Suddenly she shook herself, lips twisting in a wry grin. “I’m sorry. I should have realized that Dorian would notice how much we’d been talking and tease me about Solas, but he took me off guard.”

Desperate to redirect the conversation away from topics that stirred old memories of his own, he lowered the mug to return her smile. “He does seem to have a way about him, but you were giving him back as good as he gave you.”

Zima chuckled. “Flirting is a game for Dorian, and I’m safe since he knows I know he isn’t interested, and he’s safe since I, um, that sentence was getting complicated, wasn’t it?” She ran a hand through her short hair, smoothing it back habitually before moving a piece. “Hopefully that made sense.”

“What made sense?” Dorian’s cheerful voice announced his return with a plate of cakes, smelling deliciously warm as if he’d snagged them straight from the oven. “It’s my turn to bring gifts. Now, have you beaten the Commander yet or do I get to watch?”

 


	13. Tea and Gossip

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continuing from the end of the Perseverance (friendship) conversation.  
> No violence, no romance (yet). Spoilers.  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.

“I should be taking it.” Cullen’s voice dropped almost to a whisper.

“You give enough, Cullen, I’m not asking you for more. The Inquisition can be your chance to start over. If you want it to be.” Zima watched his face closely, his next words tired and uncertain.

“I don’t know if that’s possible.”

“It is.” She put every bit of her belief in him in her voice as she grasped his arm, willing him to believe in himself.

“Alright.” Cullen rubbed his neck with his right hand as she stepped back.

“Good. Now you’re obviously in pain, how is your stomach right now?” She glanced around for the small brazier that sometimes sat in one corner. “Do you think you might be up to some tea?”

“Maybe. The worst sickness was in the first month or two. I could probably drink some tea, though I wouldn’t want to test it with anything more. But you don’t have to do that, Inquisitor.”

“Lavellan.” She grasped his elbow, leading him out the door to his surprise. “I know why you call me that in front of our forces, but please don’t lose sight of the person now. And yes, I do have to do this, Commander, you’re a friend. Did you have to find me and listen when I found out Karina was dead or when I came back from Adamant?”

“I suppose I did.” Zima slowly guided him across the walkway that connected his tower to the main keep, scooping up an excited Derzka as she led Cullen, to his surprise, to a stack of lumber just outside the door to the rotunda. Seeing his surprised glance at the door, she shrugged, slightly embarrassed as she helped him to a seat on the lumber, plopping Derzka into his lap.

“He’s gone, checking on some elven artifact or other.” She didn’t need to add more. Both of them had avoided the topic since their conversation over the chess game a few days previously; he suspected she was uncomfortable that she’d let slip even as much as she had, and her words had had their own effect on him. “Now, sit here for a minute and enjoy Derzka and the fresh air, I’ll be right back.”

She was through the door to the rotunda before he could say anything, and Derzka squirmed in his lap, demanding his attention by standing on her back legs to rest her fore paws on his chest and try to lick his face affectionately. Gently he scratched her ears, noticing a keg next to the pile of lumber that was covered with a piece of cloth with a candle lantern on top, while against the wall to the building at the other end was another large keg as well as a number of small nail kegs. From the look of things, someone regularly used this as an improvised spot to sit, probably in the evening or very early morning, judging by the candle lantern.

Before he had time to wonder what she was doing, Zima returned, juggling a padded flask with steam rising from the top, two mugs and a honey pot with a spoon. “How did you get that so quickly? You couldn’t have made it to the kitchens and back.” Cullen watched as she set the mugs and honey on the keg, keeping one hand on Derzka who threatened to wriggle out of his grasp.

Zima chuckled, pouring tea into both mugs before spooning in honey and stirring. “Varric. He keeps a kettle on the fire, and one of the cooks makes sure I have tea things there so I stay out of the kitchen. I know you don’t have much of a sweet tooth, but since you probably won’t eat much until this is past, this will help keep your energy up a little.”

“You’re probably right.” He accepted the mug in his right hand, his left hand occupied with the wriggling mabari who was now whining at his Dalish friend, begging for her attention. He took a sip, paused, then took another cautious sip in surprise. “What’s in this?”

“Just tea, Commander, but with some mint added, a kind the Dalish use to help someone relax; Seeker Cassandra said it should be safe. Most people seem to like the taste of this mint in ordinary tea, though I usually prefer the mint alone. It’s the same thing we drank when I took a walk with two mugs in Haven.” She hesitated, biting her lip and watching his face. Cullen cautiously took a deeper drink of the tea.

“You’re right, it has a very pleasant taste mixed with tea; it just took me by surprise. Thank you.” Zima relaxed visibly, stepping a little closer to scratch a delighted Derzka behind the ears. “You know, while you prefer that I call you Lavellan, you almost always call me Commander. I hadn’t really noticed until you called me Cullen earlier. Why is that?”

She paused, frowning briefly before beginning to chuckle softly. “I guess you seem to think of yourself that way, and I almost never hear anyone call you simply Cullen. Would you rather I called you Cullen, at least when there’s no one to hear?”

“I think…I’d like that. I didn’t have much time for friends in Kirkwall outside of the Templars, I think I’m a little out of practice.”

“Cullen it is, then.” Zima stepped away to pick up her own mug, offending Derzka who sneezed, then when Cullen began stroking her gently, she curled up in his lap, whuffling happily at him.

“You said the cook kept tea things with Varric so you would stay out of the kitchen?” Cullen winced, and clearly tried to focus his attention on petting Derzka, anything else but the pain.

She wrinkled her nose at him, suppressing a laugh. “Apparently in the process of falling out of the Fade I went from only being welcome in a kitchen to being too important to intrude on one.” He looked puzzled which drew a rueful chuckle in response.

“Creators, Command…, sorry, Cullen, sometimes I think I know more about the human world than you do. Elves, particularly Dalish elves, aren’t welcome at front doors, particularly on estates. When I was traveling between towns alone, I could usually find someone who had relatives working as servants on estates. They could tell me which estates were safe to approach, and often they would send messages with me to their relatives in exchange for their relatives arranging for me to have a safe place to sleep, even if it was a hayloft. Depending on the head cook, I was often allowed into the kitchen to eat with the servants, and I discovered it was a great place to pick up gossip that was helpful to my clan.” Zima took another sip of her tea, her dark blue eyes laughing. “So as soon as we got set up here, I made friends with the cooks. Or tried; I was informed that it was scandalous for me to enter the kitchen and sit down at the table for a cup of tea and a chat.”

Cullen shook his head. “I suppose at some level I knew that, but things were very different in a circle.”

She sobered, studying him for a moment. “They must have been, though I haven’t noticed that all Templars share your…views.” Abruptly she shrugged. “But I brought you out here to get some fresh air and distract you for a bit with no one to overhear if we chat.”

Cullen raised an eyebrow. “To overhear what?”

“Whatever you want to talk about.” Zima raised an eyebrow back at him in such perfect imitation that a chuckle escaped him in spite of the pain. “Anything to keep your mind occupied. If you don’t want to talk yourself, ask me questions, anything. I can’t promise to answer, at least if I feel it involves my clan’s safety, but I won’t take offense, no matter what.”

He didn’t even think, the question that had niggled at him almost since they met just slipped out. “You said that you were glad of an excuse to be away from your clan’s camp when you first met Karina, but you’ve never said why.”

“Ah.” Her dark hair fell forward onto her face as she stared down into her mug, and the silence stretched out just long enough that he wondered if she was going to answer, then she sighed. “It’s nothing exciting or tragic or horrible, honestly, just banal. Maybe more…embarrassing to admit that life in the clans isn’t idyllic sometimes.” She tilted the mug up to drain half of it before meeting his eyes. “I enjoyed my clan while I was growing up, even without my parents. But one day, I realized I was past twenty, and everyone else I’d grown up with had found a mate with our clan or another one. The only two others who hadn’t left the clan to become mercenaries. I was happy for my friends, but, well, the walls of aravels are very thin, and it was hard to ignore…” Zima stared back down into her mug, “well, it was easier to always take the first guard shift of the night rather than be in camp then.” She continued to stare down into the mug as he suddenly realized what she wasn’t saying.

“When I met Karina, I hated myself for being jealous of my friends and felt like a coward for not leaving the clans. But I couldn’t stomach becoming a mercenary, and there are very few other places a Dalish can be hired on in the Free Marches, at least as something more than a servant. And I told myself, I still tell myself, that my clan needed what I was doing.” She finally looked back up, her face slightly red in embarrassment. “Karina realized there was something wrong, and eventually she coaxed it out of me. Since I was already studying her books, she suggested that I spend some time traveling to study with Chantry scholars as a good reason to put a little distance between myself and my clan while I thought.”

Derzka shifted in Cullen’s lap, rolling onto her back in her sleep, and Zima watched with an affectionate smile, but her eyes were clouded. “Honestly, if the darkspawn hadn’t begun raiding in the Free Marches, I’m not certain I would ever have gone back, at least not to stay. I had an idea for a time that maybe I could learn enough to be hired as a scribe by some noble who wanted one who knew some Elvehnen as well; the scholars she sent me to seemed pleased with what I learned. But I felt it was my duty to return and help protect the clan from the darkspawn.”

She paused again, warming her mug with more tea from the jug. Cullen studied her as she sipped slowly. “Since you’ve stayed, I assume things were better when you returned?”

“At first. They were glad enough to have me back. By this time, the old Keeper’s First was Keeper, and we had become friends as well.” She chewed her lip. “I guess what’s embarrassing was discovering that clans can have gossips just as much as anywhere else; it was easy as a child to believe we really were better than other people. But a month or two after we got back, I discovered that someone had started the rumor that the reason I’d been gone so long was that…I’d gotten pregnant with a human’s child and stayed away until the child was born so I could leave him with the Chantry.” The words came out in a rush, not meeting his eyes. “Our Keeper knew better, and truthfully most of my clan didn’t actually believe it either, but enough did that the story spread to every other clan we’ve met since.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to ask about something so personal.” Cullen watched sympathetically as she shrugged.

“It’s not terrible, just…uncomfortable. It doesn’t even make me an outcast except with the most traditional clans.” She shrugged. “Many of the people here have had genuinely terrible things that have happen to them, just as you have; but I wouldn’t be Dalish if I wasn’t proud.” Zima grinned suddenly, but her humor didn’t reach her eyes. “My own Keeper told me I was an idiot for not just leaving and letting them live without my skills, but I felt like I was accomplishing something. Every time the whispers got to me, I’d leave for a few months to travel, so it worked out, and it was a much better life than most people have.”

He sipped his tea, wondering if he should drop the subject, but part of him needed the distraction and it was an excuse to ask questions that had bothered him. “Why…would it make you outcast? I mean, I know about the Dales, and certainly most elves have a difficult time, but after Leliana’s stories about Misha and after knowing you, I can’t believe the Dalish hate all humans.”

Zima cupped her hands around her mug, warming them against the cool breeze that swirled around them, sweeping down from the mountains around them. “It isn’t that, or at least not for most of my clan and some of the others.” She hesitate for a moment. "Cullen, have you ever met the child of a human and elf?”

“Well, yes, of course. We had two or three mages at Kinloch Hold and Kirkwall who were known to have both elven and human parents.”

“What did they look like?” Cullen wasn’t certain where she was leading, but he tried to picture them in his head, not entirely successfully.

“I can’t think of anything unusual, and they didn’t honestly look alike.”

Her lips twisted wryly. “Were they elf or human?”

“Um, human, I suppose.” He continued to look puzzled.

“They _are_ human, Cullen, and as far as we know, there’s no way to tell otherwise.” She continued to stare intently into her mug, her words soft and slow. “Every child of a human and an elf is human, and all their descendants will always be human. What would happen if a Dalish clan let the human child of a Dalish, or any human for that matter, grow up in that clan, take a mate and have children, and those children had children? How many years would it be before there were no more Dalish in that clan?” Zima’s blue eyes were unusually sober as she finally met his startled gaze. “It isn’t hate, Cullen, it’s survival. A Dalish who has a human child either gives up that child or leaves the clan to be with the child. Most Dalish believe it’s kinder to give up a child to be raised as wholly human rather than be known and despised for elven blood.” She chuckled humorlessly, her eyes unfocused, fixed over his shoulder on the mountains. “It’s ironic how elves are despised, considering our legends of the time before Andraste—the number of children born to enslaved elves, the number of generations since then. Most Dalish and other elves know that most humans probably have elven blood, even those who don’t want to admit it.”

“Maker’s breath, I hadn’t realized…” Zima smiled, resting a hand lightly on his forearm for just a moment.

“How could you? Most humans never meet someone who they know has an elven parent, much less enough of them to begin noticing they’re all human.” She refilled his mug, then hers. “Even in the Chantry, it’s rare that anyone except high ranking priests know, and most of them consider it a scandal to be buried.” She winked, her humor resurfacing. “One night Karina and I sat up late talking, coaxing information out of each other. She told me that, though I admit she seemed disgusted with their attitudes, after she coaxed the rumor out of me.” Zima rested one hip on the edge of the keg next to him, hands cupping her mug. “I never talked about it with anyone except our Keeper and Karina before this, though I have no doubt Leliana knows everything worth knowing about me, down to the story about me sneaking an injured squirrel into our aravel once.”

Cullen chuckled, recognizing the subtle shift in topic away from more sensitive subjects. “I take it that was a memorable occasion. What happened?”

“She got into our food stores, almost ruined a couple of blankets, scattered some drying herbs, chewed up a brand new bow string, made so much noise that a couple of the other children were convinced that our aravel was haunted for months, and when my mother opened the door to find out what was inside, the squirrel used her arm to vault to her head, onto the roof of the aravel and to escape into the trees.” Zima’s blue eyes twinkled at him as he laughed softly, trying not to disturb Derzka. “Good, you’re laughing now. Mind you, I was seven at the time, I think, and every time a squirrel entered our camp for ten years, I think they teased me about my pet coming back for a visit.”

“Did you rescue the squirrel because of the Derzka story, or did you become fond of the story because of the squirrel?”

“Oh, I have no doubts I thought I wanted to be Stoika and rescue the clever Derzka who would then help me save our clan.” She wrinkled her nose in self-deprecation. “Of course, for a while when they were teasing me, I hated the story, but as I got older, I realized it was fun to redirect small children when they asked about my squirrel by telling them about Derzka.” Zima set down her mug, and crossed to perch on the stone rail across from him. “Now, short of Corypheus showing up at the gate, there’s nothing so important at the moment that someone else can’t deal with it.” She delivered her words in the quite, firm tone that he’d learned signaled that she would refuse to acknowledge any disagreement. “Talk to me. Tell me about growing up in a Fereldan village, and before you say there’s nothing to tell, think about how it would look from the view of a Dalish; all those things that are commonplace to you are exotic to me.”


	14. Sunrise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This chapter starts with the last lines of one version of Cullen's Perseverance quest and continues the conversation.  
> No violence, no romance (yet). Spoilers.  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.

“You’re a better person than you give yourself credit for.”

“I appreciate the thought, but I know who I am.” Cullen looked away from Zima uncomfortably. “Anyway, I meant to thank you, not trouble you further. You’ve enough to worry about.” He shifted back in her direction, face concerned. “How are you holding up?”

She bit her lip, staring out at the mountains as if searching for answers there. “Honestly, I’m terrified. So many people depend on us. On me. Corypheus is still out there.”

“We’ve made great strides. Do not doubt yourself—or the Inquisition—just yet. If there’s anything I can do, you have only to ask.” Cullen raised his fist to his chest in a salute, eyes intense, and Zima managed a lop-sided smile in return.

“Thank you. And at least some things are back to normal.” She rolled her blue eyes before leaning against a merlon, foot resting on the crenellation, staring off into the distance at the mountains. “Creators, I’m glad I decided to stop taking Solas and Sera with me into the field at the same time, at least I escape their antipathy then.”

Cullen turned to lean back against the neighboring merlon, but staring inwards toward the main keep. “Maker, I’m almost afraid to ask what it was this time.”

Zima’s chuckle had that slight edge to it that he recently had begun to recognize as a sign of frustrated irritation more than amusement. “Dorian called me to the rotunda late last night to break up a rather heated argument. It seems that Solas has been carefully contemplating his revenge for the lizards in his bedroll for the past couple of months.”

Cullen chuckled. “I thought I heard something about Sera screaming and running out of the tavern last night, but, well, it’s Sera so I didn’t think anything about it at the time. Do I want to know what Solas did?”

Zima tilted her head sideways to look up at him with an impish grin. “You’ve seen the murals Solas has been painting in the rotunda, using an ancient elven fresco style? It’s quite distinctive, not even the Dalish clans remember the technique.” Her eyes flicked over to the tavern briefly. “Apparently Solas decided that Sera’s room in the tavern was a bit…drab. Needed some livening up.”

Cullen’s lips twitched, picturing the garish magpie’s nest that Sera occupied. “Did it now?”

“Oh, yes. The ceiling is, or was, plain wooden planks. Somehow while she was out yesterday, they were adorned. In elven fresco, of course.” Their eyes met in shared laughter before she turned back to look out at the mountains.

“Of course. I assume the subject was suitable to the medium?”

“Naturally. Apparently he felt her quarters lacked the appropriate elven touch, so the ceiling was adorned with a wolf and a halla flanking a robed elf with hands cupped around a ball of magical fire in that very distinctive fresco style. For some reason Sera didn’t appreciate the thought.” He chuckled, watching her lips twitch from the profile.

“Let’s see, anything elven, or an elf, or a halla, or magic, she adores all those things, doesn’t she?”

“Exactly. I calmed her down and reminded her that she’d challenged him herself, she can’t complain now if he reciprocated. Well, she can, and did, but she got the point once she calmed down, and it will be painted over today.” She chuckled, then sobered. “She’s too upset and too hostile to Dalish culture for me to tell her what those represented, though, and I’m still trying to work out the message he was sending her. Or someone.”

“What do you mean?”

“The halla and the wolf, at least the way he painted them, they’re two of our gods, Ghilan’nain, mother of the halla,” she unconsciously touched the tattoos on her face, “and Fen’Harel, the Dread Wolf. Well, it’s not quite that simple, and Fen’Harel especially is…complicated.” She spoke slowly and thoughtfully. “The thing is, we Dalish would never put them together, or put Fen’Harel with any other god. He’s the trickster, the betrayer of our gods, but at the same time, no Dalish clan will camp for long in a site that does not have a statue of Fen’Harel nearby.” She shrugged. “I never understood that, honestly. But I have no idea who the mage is supposed to represent, and Solas didn’t seem to be inclined to talk.” Zima shrugged uncomfortably. “And I wasn’t inclined to go back alone and ask, honestly.”

Cullen hesitated for a moment before forcing himself to ask. “Are you…alright? I mean, having to settle a dispute with him involved can’t be easy.”

She shrugged. “He behaves as if nothing was ever said between us, almost as if he’s relieved. I suppose I should be insulted, but…” She shrugged again, eyes fixed on the mountains.

He opened his mouth for a moment, as if to say something, pausing, then changed his mind. “No more dream visits?”

“Thank the Creators, no.” Suddenly, he found himself pinned by dark blue eyes. “When I told you about that, I didn’t know about…about what happened to you, at Kinloch. Talking about being frightened by Solas set off what happened to you the other day, didn’t it?”

Cullen considered denying it, but had the feeling he wouldn’t fool her. “Yes. I started thinking about someone being able to see my dreams, my…nightmares, using them against me.”

“Ir abelas, lethallin. I’m sorry, my friend.” She sighed. “Next time if I’m here, tell me sooner? Believe me, I’d rather sit with you and keep you talking through it than sit through Josephine’s lessons in etiquette and the Game to prepare me for that Orlesian ball.”

He grinned wryly, but there was a spark in his amber eyes. “I remember that word, lethallin, but for you, I would say leth…lethallan, right?”

Zima chuckled and straightened, resting a hand lightly on his forearm for a second. “Yes, you remembered. Now, we should get to breakfast. I think Josephine plans to make my head spin all morning with preparation for court, and I’ll need my strength. Especially if she gets started on the gossip of the nobles who were listening avidly last night; I expect Josephine to have some tart things to say about that.”

He rubbed the back of his neck. "Should I arrange a disturbance that requires your immediate attention if it goes on too long?"

Her eyes twinkled at him. "No, but if she appears to forget lunch, a rescue would be appreciated. Honestly, I'd rather be out in the field about to face a high dragon than have to deal with nobles again. Oh, did Josephine tell you that she's expecting _all_ of the advisors to go to the Winter Palace with me?"

"Andraste preserve me. I wonder if I can get deathly ill the day before you have to leave."

* * *

  
NOTE: Thanks to nyxocity for the idea that inspired the prank on Sera.  



	15. The Game

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Continues from the end of the war table conversation at the start of Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts  
> No violence, no romance (yet). Spoilers.  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.  
> Also, I apologize that there’s been so much time between chapters, but posting will probably be erratic for a month or so due to Real Life™

“My agents will ensure your troops get inside, but it must be a few at a time.”

 “Understood.” Cullen turned from Leliana to Zima. “Just give the word and we’ll begin.”

 Zima nodded her agreement, glancing at Josephine uncomfortably. “If you’re sure I’m ready for this.”

 “I’m sure. I’ve prepared you with everything I can give someone who is an outsider to court, and I think your own training makes you a bit of a natural at the Game.” Zima wrinkled her nose in distaste, but nodded. “Who will you take with you?”

 Zima chewed her lip, staring down at the map rather than meeting their eyes. “Cassandra, Vivienne, and…Sera.”

 “Sera!” Josephine looked completely horrified. “Are you sure it’s worth the risk of her playing some joke on a key member of Celene’s court and ruining any chance we have of gaining their support?”

 Zima toyed with one of the counters they used to mark locations of current operations. “Hear me out. I admit I’m uneasy with trusting her, but Vivienne, with her influence at court, is an obvious choice. Cassandra may be dreadful as court maneuvering, but her Pentaghast connection will impress your nobles, and any priests or officers will respect her as Right Hand of the Divine, and frankly, I’m not going into this without someone I trust absolutely at my back, especially if I’m taking Vivienne. You and Vivienne only get us access to the nobles and highest ranking military officers while Leliana gets us access to those as well as some of the non-noble members of the court—priests, bards, people who serve the court and nobles directly. But who makes up most of the people in a palace this size, who is invisible, and who knows everything going on? The servants, and Sera is the only one of us who has a chance of winning their trust in the time we’re there.” Zima looked up, locking eyes with each of them in turn, gaze fierce. “This is what I used to do, but I’m not going to be at the Winter Palace as an anonymous Dalish passing through. No one’s going to talk to the Inquisitor. It has to be Sera, especially if the assassin _is_ a servant.”

 Josephine looked unconvinced, but Leliana and Cullen were nodding in agreement. “She’s right, Josie, Sera’s the only one besides Lavellan who has any chance of getting real information from the servants and probably already has contacts there. And she will listen to Lavellan about the importance of getting court support.”

 “Especially if I promise her that if she limits herself to collecting information while we’re there, if she finds out someone really deserves a visit from Red Jenny, I’ll help.” Her dark blue eyes gleamed with something Cullen thought he recognized as not-quite-humor. “I suspect by the end of our visit to the Winter Palace, I’ll be ready to make my own suggestions.”

 They ironed out the last details, then Leliana and Josephine wandered out, deep in discussions about final fittings, with Josephine calling back a reminder to Cullen that he had to see the tailor before lunch. Zima continued to fidget with the owl-topped marker, lost in thought.

 “Worried about the Winter Palace?” She jumped slightly, staring up at Cullen in surprise, as if she hadn’t noticed that he was still there.

 “A little.” She chewed her lip, not quite meeting his eyes.

 “Josephine thinks you’re ready; give her credit for knowing her own sphere.” His voice was encouraging. “Not that I think it’s the best use of your talents, or that you’ll find it comfortable to play this manipulative Game of theirs, but I think she’s right that you’ll be good at it. You have a knack for reading people and working out what argument will convince them, and people trust you.”

 “That almost sounds like you think I enjoy manipulating people, Cullen.” She met his eyes for a second, then quickly looked down at the counter clasped tightly in her hands.

 “No! I think you could if you wanted to, but you don’t choose to. You are good at understanding what matters to people, though, and working with that to get them on our side.” He came around the table, taking the counter from her hands to set it on the table, then tilting her chin up to look at him. “Now tell me what’s really wrong, lethallan.”

 Zima’s eyes were troubled, but she returned his look levelly. “Being here, it’s sometimes easy to forget how most humans view elves, barring the odd comment I overhear down by the merchants by some newcomer who doesn’t recognize me. But this is the Orlesian court, lethallin; I’ve had a taste of how they’re likely to act toward me at Josephine’s teas. I’m just not…looking forward to being paraded in front of a palace full of Orlesian nobles, pretending I’m too barbaric to understand their insults and smiling through it all.” She shrugged uncomfortably. “I can and will do it, but…” She let the words trail off.

 “I don’t envy you, but I’d be quite shocked if you said you were looking forward to this. I’m not exactly looking forward to it myself; court politics and manners aren’t precisely part of a Templar’s training. But I’m not being put on display and the worst I’m likely to run into are nobles offended that I’m blunt and a commoner.” His hand still held her chin up, cupping it lightly, as he spoke with conviction as if trying to give her strength and confidence. “I know we’re asking a lot of you, but I have every faith that you’ll be good at this. And really, winning over the court is secondary to saving Celene, and no one else here has a better chance of that than you do.” The right side of Cullen’s mouth twisted upward into a mischievous grin. “When we get back, we’ll get someone to draw pictures of the worst nobles, and we’ll pin them to the archery butts for you to practice on.”

She began to chuckle, “As tempting as that is, my weapons practices here at Skyhold appear to have become a public festival; I usually end up with a crowd, including some of the nobles who take bets. Using recognizable silhouettes could be…awkward.”

Cullen returned her grin, his hand dropping without either of them noticing. “You throw knives; we’ll put them on the dummy in my office. None of the nobles would dare follow you into there.”

Zima was about to reply when a puppy’s demanding bark came from the direction of Josephine’s office, answered by Josephine’s irate voice. “Creators, I think Derzka’s looking for you. You’d better go find out what she’s doing that’s upset Josephine.”

“Probably chewing on the leg of one of her chairs, she’s teething on everything right now.” He hesitated for just a moment, but she just grinned.

“I’ll be fine, lethallin, we’ll storm the court, save the empress, and make our escape.” She winked as she delivered the line in the overblown tones of a melodramatic bard.

“Together, then, lethallan.” He returned her grin just as Josephine's voice and the barking got louder, and he sprinted for the door.

 


	16. Wicked

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shortly after the start of Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts, with my own twists.
> 
> No violence, no romance (yet). Spoilers.  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.
> 
> Also, I apologize that posting will probably be erratic for a month or so due to Real Life™

 

* * *

 

“It will take some time to get our men into the palace. I’ll alert you when we’re ready.”

 Zima nodded, glancing around the elegant antechamber to the ballroom. “Good. Well, this has been meeting all my expectations, though I admit the Grand Duke was a surprise.” She managed a polite, artificial smile, acknowledging the bow of a passing nobleman with a surprisingly practiced nod.

 “That bad already?” Cullen kept his expression bland.

 “Oh, it could be worse. I think. I’ve been called an ‘elf savage’ and overheard comments about the number of elves present as I passed. Oh, and a noblewoman addressed me as ‘Rabbit.’ I’m not certain I want to know what she meant by that, but I’m fairly certain it wasn’t a compliment.” She smoothed the blue satin sash that crossed her chest and raised tranquil blue eyes to meet his.

 “I suppose it was too much to hope…” An imperceptible shake of her head caused him to trail off, following her eyes to a passing noblewoman who was studiously not looking at them. “You said the Grand Duke was a surprise.”

 Zima watched the nobles on the stairs as if only mildly curious to see who was coming and going. “Oh yes. Lady Josephine told me that flirting was a part of court manners and the Game, but I hadn’t realized that would include a ‘savage Dalish.’ I suppose the habit was so ingrained that he forgot what I was, but thank goodness I have a lot of practice hiding my reactions.”

 Cullen coughed, covering his mouth as he controlled his reaction. “Or he thought it would make you more inclined to his position. Though he probably won’t be the only one tonight.”

 She smiled, eyes on his as if he’d simply said something amusing. “That’s not reassuring, Commander, especially if any of them mean more by it than a dance of manners. The idea of one of these delightful people eying me as an exotic plaything or a prized trophy?” Her expression was one of polite interest, but there was a subtle edge of distaste in her voice.

 “Fortunately, you are also untouchable for the same reason they’ll actually see you; you have the power of the Inquisition behind you. I wish we didn’t need you to do this, Inquisitor, but I’m just as glad no one will be noticing me. You, Lady Josephine, Sister Leliana, Madame Vivienne, even Seeker Cassandra are going to be far more interesting to nobles.” Cullen flexed his shoulders uncomfortably. “I need to have this jacket let out a little.”

 Zima’s smile was a bit more natural now. “A little snug? It looks like a perfect fit.”

 “Too perfect. If I actually had to fight, I’d rip out the back.”

 

* * *

 

 “Making friends?”

 Sera giggled, amused at the idea. “Not likely. I’m watching them watch you. They’re all glances and titters, not sure if they’re allowed to like you yet. Pathetic.”

 “Very true. Would you like to have a bit of fun, then?” Zima raised an eyebrow quizzically, an edge to her voice, though she kept the appropriately neutral expression of polite interest on her face.

 “Of course, but didn’t you ask me to promise not to teach anyone a lesson here tonight?”

 “True, but this is a little different. Have you seen Commander Cullen?” She turned slightly so she was standing at an angle so that the figure of the ex-Templar and the crowd of nobles around him was visible across the dance floor.

 “Hard to miss General Uptight and all his admirers. Those nobles are on him like…”

 Zima interrupted, “a pack of wolves. They know he can’t object, and they’ve realized he doesn’t know how to politely get rid of them.” Her eyes glittered and her smile was a little forced as she nodded to a noble wandering past.

 “Ooo, you’re really pissed off! I’ve never seen you really get angry before. Are you sure you and General Uptight…”

 “Friends, Sera, I’d do the same for anyone in the Inquisition, or frankly for anyone I saw cornered like that. Don’t read more into it than that.”

 “If you say so.” Sera smirked.

 “I do say so.” Zima’s voice was fierce, though she turned back away from the floor of the ballroom to help keep her expression under control. “To think he thought no one would even notice him. It just hadn’t occurred to me that they treated anyone besides elves that way.”

 “I told you, there’s them up there, and then there’s people, my people, and they don’t see my people as people. Out there, you and him are part of up there, but in here, you aren’t, at least not yet.” The Dalish woman’s smile was rueful for a moment.

 “Yes, you did, but it didn’t make sense before. But are you in?” Zima nodded in acknowledgment of a passing noble’s greeting, ignoring the curious looks they were getting.

 “Pass up a chance to bring one of _them_ down a notch or two?” She snorted at that thought. “So, what do I do?” Sera’s grin turned feral with anticipation.

 “Hmm, we have to be subtle or Josephine will flay us both…”

 

* * *

 

Leliana listened without appearing to listen as two noblewomen wandered past, hands to their mouths and whispering in delighted shock. “Is it true?”

 “My dear, yes! I was there when she stumbled and dropped it. And it shattered.”

 “Paste gems. And cheap paste gems at that. How awful!”

 “She left, of course. She’ll have to do something very dramatic and extravagant to be able to show her face again.”

 “Did you hear about the Comte?”

 “Yes, is it true?”

 “I wasn’t there, but someone swears that he saw the Comte’s mask fall, the strap pulled loose from it. He must be terribly hard up to risk cheap workmanship like that. He left too, of course.”

 They were out of range before Leliana found out exactly who or what the stories were about, but signaled one of her agents. As her agent made her polite way through the crowd, she noticed Sera looking remarkably pleased with herself as she slipped back into the spot she’d occupied through most of the evening, then saw Sera make a signal to Zima who looked just as please for just an instant before she resumed the polite mask Josephine had trained into her. _I wonder…_

 


	17. At the End of the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> End of Wicked Eyes, Wicked Hearts, with my own twist.
> 
> No violence, no romance (yet). Spoilers.  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.
> 
> Again, I apologize that posting may be erratic for a month or so due to Real Life™

* * *

 

“Is there anything I can do? Can I get you anything? A drink, perhaps?” Josephine rested a hand on her shoulder as Zima smiled tiredly back at the Antivan.

“I just need a moment.”

“Of course.” Josephine patted her shoulder as she straightened. “Lavellan, I am not…unaware of some of the things said in your hearing tonight, and I am sorry you had to face that. But the support you have won from the court, well, it will be invaluable to the Inquisition.”

“That’s good to hear. It’s nothing I haven’t heard before, but thank you for worrying about me.”

Josephine’s head turned toward the ballroom, and when she spoke, there was a hint of amusement in her voice. “I am not the only one to worry, I think. I believe I will find Leliana and begin gathering the others so we can depart. Inquisitor.”

Zima raised her head to listen to the footsteps approaching behind her without turning. “Commander.”

“Inquisitor. I noticed you were gone from the ballroom, I didn’t mean to interrupt anything.”

She shrugged, still leaning tiredly against the railing. “It wasn’t anything important, just her reassuring me that I didn’t completely make an idiot of myself tonight.” Cullen leaned on the balcony next to her.

“I hope she had more to say about it than that! Even Leliana was impressed; she says you have the court eating out of your hand.”

She surprised him by snorting softly. “And their memory of it will last until they go to bed. Tomorrow, though? But I assume Josephine was pleased, she even used my name once.”

He stared off into the distance next to Zima, the silence stretching out for at least a minute before he finally spoke what was clearly bothering him. “If I may ask, why did you choose to support Celene and Briala? I thought…Gaspard is, was, a good man.”

Zima kept her eyes fixed on the distance, not looking around at him, hands tense on the railing. “It was your own words that convinced me against Gaspard, Cullen.”

“My words?” His voice was both startled and confused as he straightened from the railing.

“You told me that the chevaliers thought he ‘could lead the empire back to the glory of Drakon’s expansion years.’ I have to believe that he had given them reason to think that would be his goal too. You were born in Fereldan, Cullen; while he might be a good leader in the short term and could help restore order, do you really want someone whose main base of support expects him to engage in conquest sitting on that border? I may not love all the Free Marcher cities, but I don’t want them, or the Dalish clans in the Marches or Fereldan, in the path of another Drakon.” She finally met his eyes, lower lip caught between her teeth nervously.

“I suppose I knew that, but I thought the Inquisition could deal with his possible threat after we stopped Corypheus. And he would have owed a debt to the Inquisition.”

“If we don’t think in both the short term and the long term, we may defeat Corypheus only to find ourselves in a worse struggle, one which divides the Inquisition itself, as well as Thedas. I don’t count on anyone’s gratitude or memory once his threat is past, and there are many Orlesians in the Inquisition. Celene is unlikely to be a military threat, and with Briala to keep an eye on her, I felt she was a safer bet.”

“You think Briala will try to discourage any offensive campaigns because they might threaten elves?”

Zima shook her head firmly. “The elves are important to her, but she’s also Orlesian, and sometimes Briala the Orlesian is going to be stronger than Briala the Elf, especially if her affection for Celene completely recovers. I’ve never forgotten that Leliana told me she’s met Tevinter elves who help kidnap people into slavery because being Tevinter meant more to them than being elvhen.”

Cullen rested his elbows on the railing again, listening intently, amber eyes watching hers closely. “That makes sense, actually. In the Circles, there’s no difference really between human and elven mages, they’re almost always mages first. I never really thought about how elves were treated differently before I began training for the Templars, I was too young I guess.”

Zima chuckled softly. “It’s easy not to see something that doesn’t affect you directly, Cullen, and even harder to notice the absence. The Templars, though, are all human, and so are the Chantry’s priests, and they are the ones with the real authority. Did you ever question that once you were exposed to the Circle itself?”

“I…not really, I guess. The Chantry had all sorts of reasons, but I never really questioned what that meant or why they might want things that way.” He shifted, glancing away uncomfortably. “That doesn’t exactly put me in a good light, does it?”

She sighed, lifting her right hand from the rail to rest it softly on his left arm. “I’m not trying to make you feel guilty, Cullen; there’s no crime in failing to notice something that doesn’t affect you directly when nothing’s rubbed your nose in it, and as you say, human and elvhen mages weren’t treated differently. It’s only a failing if you choose to turn your back on it once you’re aware of it. Do you know what my first impression of you was?” She patted his arm once before supporting her weight back onto the rail, surprising him with her abrupt shift in topic.

“I’m almost afraid to ask now.” There was a note of rueful laughter in his voice.

“An officer who knew exactly what he was doing and how to get things done, as long as he was dealing with military problems, but perhaps a bit single-minded, to the point of not always seeing things going on around him.” She grinned impishly at him, beginning to revive a little, and the right corner of his mouth curled up in answer.

“That’s altogether too accurate, I’m afraid.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Zima raised a hand to brush back short black hair that had been slowly escaping Josephine’s careful arrangement. “Later that same day, I overheard a soldier apologizing to one of Leliana’s agents, an elf, for insulting her, apparently on your order.” Her grin grew broader as he shifted uncomfortably. “Things like that made it easier to believe in you later when you never treated me differently for being Dalish and easier to trust you with what I’d been trained to do.”

“You give me too much credit, I think.” She chuckled softly, eyes fixed on the distance again.

“Maybe, but you’ve never given me any reason to _not_ trust you. And you were willing to trust me even after I admitted being trained specifically to spy on humans and even the Chantry.”

She could feel him shrug next to her and turned her head towards him. “None of which you had to tell us. You could have kept hidden talents and knowledge which have been very useful to the Inquisition, lethallan.”

“I just want my people to be able to live peacefully, no more than many humans want, lethallin. But to return to our problem, I won’t make assumptions that all other elves want only that. Besides Briala the Elf and Briala the Orlesian, now we have Briala the Noble who is incredibly adept at the Game. I think she’s potentially the most dangerous person in Orlais right now, but I’m also fairly certain she doesn’t think in terms of military conquest. I think she’s more a matter for Leliana and Sera now.”

He nodded, then glanced over his shoulder at the ballroom. “There’s also Briala the Empress’s lover. Do you think that will make a difference as well?”

The left side of Zima’s mouth twisted into a wry smile. “After today, it would be easy to doubt that anyone at the Orlesian court ever feels anything besides envy, pride, and greed, so that is probably more a question for Leliana and Josephine who understand these things.”

“If you don’t think they feel anything for each other, why did you bring them back together?”

Her smile faded, and she began to chew her lower lip, turning to lean against the balcony and staring back into the ballroom. “Celene took a terrible risk keeping that trinket that could connect her to Briala; I had to believe she felt something for her, as incredibly unlikely as that seemed. Briala has a chance of improving the treatment of Orlesian elves and other commoners if she can keep Celene’s energy focused on that. If things don’t work between them, we’ll have two of the most adept players of the Orlesian Game using their talents and energy against each other, which will hopefully keep them too busy to cause trouble outside Orlais.” She shrugged. “It’s a gamble, but when I realized what that trinket was, I felt it was the best option we had. It’s also possible I’ve made a terrible mistake and having an elf in such a position of power will cause a backlash against other elves, both inside and outside of Orlais, especially if some powerful people start to think about the implications of Briala and me as elves who have and know how to use power.”

“You have thought through all of this, and much farther than I had.” Cullen straightened and turned suddenly. “However, you look done in.” He startled her by offering his arm in a courtly fashion. “If you will allow me to escort you, Inquisitor, perhaps we can get you past the sycophants and on your way to some rest. If anyone tries to stop you, I’ll practice my barbaric Fereldan glare on them.”

Zima covered her mouth with one hand, smothering a brief giggle before taking his arm. “You should have tried the glare on your admirers earlier.”

“Maker’s breath! Please, I don’t even want to think of that ever again.” They began to move toward the door and as they passed through, he added thoughtfully. “Though two of the worst suddenly vanished partway through the evening. Thankfully.”

“Oh? That was convenient, I wonder what happened.” Her voice was completely natural, but Cullen was peering through the door trying to spot Josephine and missed the smug satisfaction that flashed across her face and was gone in an instant.


	18. Scented

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scented  
> An encounter in the garden.  
> No violence, no romance (yet). Spoilers.  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.  
> Also, I apologize that there’s been so much time between chapters, but posting will probably be erratic for a month or so due to Real Life™

 

* * *

 

“Once Corypheus has been defeated, I fully intend to join my love once more. Kieran misses him greatly.”

Zima bit her lip, dark blue eyes shifting to stare at the ground for a moment, then awkwardly back to Morrigan’s. “The Hero of Ferelden is Misha Sabrae, a Dalish.” It wasn’t quite a question, but not quite a statement either. “And you have been together for over a decade.”

“Is that so surprising?” Morrigan’s voice shifted from warm and husky to defensively sharp almost instantly, and Zima flushed. “Or does it offend your _Dalish_ pride that a Dalish might have feelings for a witch like me, father a child with me? A _human_ child?”

“No! I’m sorry, it isn’t…I thought…” Zima kept her eyes fixed on her hands as they ran up and down her forearms, as if trying to warm them up. “It’s…that _you_ care for a Dalish.”

“And why shouldn’t I? He’s a good man, someone who has never betrayed my trust.” Morrigan’s voice was less acid, but there was still a tinge of anger in her words.

The Inquisitor simply shook her head, still staring downwards. “I’m sorry, of course he is; I’m just…confused.” She slowly met Morrigan’s eyes, watching the anger begin to drain away to be replaced by curiosity.

“Why should something as simple as that confuse you?”

Just then a burst of happy barking rapidly grew louder as it approached them, and the Dalish woman broke their locked gaze to see a half-grown mabari bounding toward her through a crowd of hastily scattering nobles. She quickly raised a hand in a signal, and the delighted puppy skidded to a stop in front of her just before leaping up to plant her large paws on the slight woman’s shoulders, sitting down to whine pleadingly, her entire rear end wriggling in appeal while remaining seated. “Derzka, what are you doing here? Aren’t you supposed to be with your trainer?” The mabari barked an answer that was half wheedling whine, as if she was denying any wrongdoing.

Morrigan chuckled softly. “They are an enthusiastic breed, particularly when so young. Did you say her name is Derzka? That’s an odd coincidence, my love has a mabari, quite elderly now even for one of them, who is named Stoika after a character from a Dalish story with a squirrel named Derzka.”

Zima knelt, scratching behind Derzka’s ears and trying to avoid attempts by the enthusiastic puppy to wash her face. “No coincidence at all, actually, he was her great-grand-sire. Stoika was bred to a couple of bitches in King Alistair’s kennels, and he sent a litter descended from Stoika as a gift to the Inquisition.”

“And according to the story, there must always be a girl named Derzka in Stoika’s line to honor the squirrel who saved her clan. Kieran loved that story when he was little.” Zima grinned as Derzka barked happily in Morrigan’s direction in response to her name, then paused to sniff curiously at the stranger as if memorizing her scent.

 “I’m not surprised you know the story, if the Hero of Ferelden liked the story well enough to name his mabari after Stoika. Though I wonder if anyone ever told Stoika that the warrior he was named after was a woman.”

 Morrigan glided forward, offering her fingers so Derzka could sniff them, then managed to expertly draw them just out of reach when that sniff was followed by an exuberant attempt to wash her fingers. “Is Derzka imprinted on you, then?”

 “No, she bonded with Commander Cullen almost the moment she laid eyes on him. She seems fond of me, though.”

 “The Commander? How does a human ex-Templar come to name a mabari after a character from a Dalish children’s story?”

 Zima shrugged, running her hands along Derzka’s sides. “He overheard me telling that story just a few days before she arrived, and when we found out who she was descended from…” She shrugged again.

 The dark witch’s voice had notes of amusement and curiosity now. “Does she often find you like that? She’s very young to have had much training.”

 “Sometimes. Usually when someone is…”

 “Inquisitor!” Both women looked up from the mabari to see Cullen making his way past the Chantry representatives and nobles who were enjoying the garden while also pointedly keeping their distance from the apostate. “There you are. My apologies for interrupting.” He bowed briefly and a little stiffly to Morrigan before turning a stern gaze on the puppy whose demeanor changed to pleadingly apologetic. “I asked Derzka if she could find you, and she took off right through a pair of nobles who had just arrived from the Freemarches, knocking one of them down. She kept going while I stopped to help the lady to her feet. I suppose I’m lucky that she simply made a joke about expecting such incidents when visiting ‘dog lords’ when Josephine hurried up to smooth things over.” He rubbed his neck anxiously, glancing back the way he’d entered the garden.

 “How did you know where she had gone, then?” Morrigan surprised him by chuckling, and he was suddenly riveted when he realized who was scratching an adoring Derzka behind the ears.

 “I listened to which direction her barking went, then followed the line of nobles holding their skirts and coats close as if afraid to get them dirty.” He studied the slight softening of Morrigan’s features as she caressed the puppy. “Obviously you have no such concerns, Lady Morrigan.”

 “I am no delicate flower, Commander, and certainly no noble _lady_.” She straightened, her manner brisk, voice cooler. “You are lucky, Commander, she’s a fine beast and reminds me very much of her great-grand-sire. I hadn’t realized how much I missed him until now.”

 “Sister Leliana said you two knew each other…during the Blight, I mean.” Cullen seemed a little unnerved by a woman he only knew through Leliana’s stories, clearly uncertain how to connect that sinister woman with someone who was coaxing such adoration from a mabari at first meeting. Zima simply watched as Cullen struggled with his response to this strange apostate.

 “I’m sure she said many things, and some of them may even be true, Commander.” She turned her gaze back to the whining puppy who was still obedient, however reluctantly, to whatever order Zima had given her earlier. “As for you,” she raised one eyebrow, “I am pleased to make your acquaintance, young Derzka.” Her eyes met Zima’s briefly, lips twitching. “Since she seems to have a great deal of affection for you, and you probably know as little about them as I did at first, I should warn you to be prepared for…‘gifts.’” She scowled sternly at the puppy who squirmed happily at the attention as if aware there was no heat behind it. “Your ancestor once left me a half-eaten hare in my clothing.”

 Zima suppressed a sudden giggle, and Cullen covered his mouth, coughing.

 “He also helps himself to my herbs; we had to create a locked, raised cupboard to keep him out of them after he made himself sick on them.” Derzka barked, half raising herself from the ground until Cullen fixed her with a firm stare, and she planted her rear quickly, returning the stare with an innocent tongue-lolling grin.

 “Derzka likes chair legs, and those in Josephine’s office by preference. We each have one she damaged so she has something to chew on without damaging others.” Zima spoke for the first time since Cullen arrived. “I’m sorry, Commander, were you looking for me?” He straightened, suddenly brisk and all-business.

 “I’m sorry, Inquisitor, but a messenger arrived with a report from our scout parties in the Arbor Wilds, I sent one of Leliana’s aides to look for Lady Morrigan so you could both hear what they’ve found.”

 Zima straightened tiredly, making a new hand signal to Zima who cheerfully bounded to stand right behind her, rear end wagging enthusiastically. “Of course, we should hear the report as soon as possible. We can turn Derzka over to Varric on the way past his corner; she behaves for him and he can get her back to the trainer so she doesn’t get near Josephine’s office.” She exchanged rueful grins with Cullen, neither aware that Morrigan was observing the exchange intently.

 “I need a moment to check on Kieran, I’ll be right behind you.”

 They nodded and moved off briskly together, Derzka sedately following, apparently to the surprise of the nobles who cleared a wide path for the trio. Morrigan seemed to be contemplating something as they left, a slight smile on her lips before turning to look for Kieran, idly commenting to herself, “well, well, so that’s what became of the Templar in Kinloch, though he didn’t seem to recognize me. Probably as well. I wonder…”

 

* * *

 This is an encounter between Cullen and an NPC from DAO that I would have enjoyed in DAI, but I also understand varying game states would make it difficult to add. So I wrote it in, but never have Morrigan mention that she recognized him (not out of kindness, particularly, but from her strong sense of survival since she has no way to know how he would react.) I also assume that Dog from DAO joined the male warden if he went through the Eluvian, either then or later, and I wanted to revisit Morrigan's backhanded fondness for Dog as well.


	19. Trust

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place shortly after returning from the Shrine of Dumat portion of the Track Down Samson quest (after the scene with Dagna) and just before leaving for the Arbor Wilds.  
>  **Warning: No violence but things are said that may be a trigger for some people.**  
>  No romance (yet). Spoilers.  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.  
> Also, I apologize that there’s been so much time between chapters, but posting will probably be erratic for a month or so due to Real Life™

* * *

 

“Cullen?” Zima stood hesitantly in the doorway, Derzka obediently following behind her, tail wagging eagerly and whining softly at the man slumped in the chair, both hands clenched around a steaming mug, face bleak. “I’m sorry we weren’t in time to save Maddox, but you can’t blame yourself.”

“Of course I can blame myself; I let myself ignore the fate of Tranquil in Kirkwall, so lost that even Samson looked like a hero to Maddox!” He slammed the mug down on the desk angrily as he shouted, a few drops of what smelled like hot mulled wine splattering the desk.

Zima silently signaled the mabari who whined but seated herself in a corner, watching the man intently. The dark haired woman crossed to lean silently on the edge of the desk next to the mug, facing him quizzically.

“Maddox, the other Tranquil, they were as much my responsibility as the surviving mages and Templars and maybe more than some people, and yet I ignored them, assumed they died in the Gallows.” He rubbed the back of his neck with one hand, staring down at his tightly-balled fist. “And this was the result of my neglect.” His voice grew softer. “How can you and the others trust me when I’ve failed, failed to stop Meredith until Kirkwall was almost destroyed, failed to save the Tranquil…?”

She watched him for a few seconds more, studying the tension in his hands and his posture. “You feel guilty because you were so busy trying to hold Kirkwall together and protect the people who screamed for attention that you forgot the ones who never tell anyone that they need something.”

He glared up at her, his amber brown eyes furious. “Yes, I am! I was in command, it was my job!”

“You think that makes you untrustworthy, and that guilt makes you angry?”

He slammed both hands down on the arms of his chair. “Yes! Cassandra thinks I did a wonderful job in Kirkwall, but I neglected the people least able to protect themselves! Can’t you see that?”

“What I see is that you need an outlet for that anger. Hit me.”

Cullen gaped at her for a moment before shoving the chair away from the desk and standing to back away from her in shock. “Are you mad?” Derzka whined anxiously, but remained where she’d been ordered to sit.

Calmly she followed him as he backed, panicking, into the window alcove, but never approaching close enough to crowd him. “I said you need a target for your anger. Hit me. If you aren’t trustworthy, then my judgment is even more flawed. How many people have died because of me, Cullen? Justinia, Stroud, all the people who died at Haven because Corypheus wanted me, all those people in the future where I failed, Gaspard, the Templars at Therinfal Redoubt I might have saved instead of the mages, how many people are dead because of me, Cullen? Why shouldn’t I be the outlet for your anger?”

“You’re mad. I…I would never…” He continued to stare, his face twisted in revulsion at the thought but anger draining away. “Why would you even suggest such a thing?”

“Because I _trust_ you, lethallin.” She spoke the words simply, reaching slowly out to take one of his hands and hold it between both of hers gently, serene dark blue eyes holding his gaze firmly. “You would never hurt me as long as you were in control of yourself.”

“Then why?” His voice was hoarse, almost a whisper.

“You were locked into destructive self-hate, and it was the only way I could think to shock you out of it and also make you believe my answer.” Her delicate hands rubbed his as if trying to bring the circulation back to someone who’d been in the snow too long. He stared at her in disbelief, his mouth working silently for a moment. Finally he managed a whisper.

“You…you were trying to shock me? Like a bucket of cold water in my face?”

She shrugged, gently drawing him back to his chair, then signaling Derzka who leapt up and bounded over to lay her head on Cullen’s lap, whining appealingly as she shoved her head under his unresisting hands. “I wasn’t sure if it would work, but I trusted that the worst that would happen would be that you’d toss me out of your office and lock the door behind me.” Zima rested one hip on the corner of the desk with a wry grin. “Not that the locks on your door could keep me out if I really thought it was urgent, especially with that huge hole in the roof of your bedroom.”

Cullen began to stroke Derzka’s head unconsciously, still staring at the Dalish woman. “I’m starting to think there’s a streak of madness in your family, lethallan.”

“I’ve been accused of worse things.” Her voice was light, though her smile became a little one-sided. “Cullen, I trust you not because you’re perfect but because you don’t bury your mistakes. And I meant what I said about how many people are dead because of me, because of my decisions. I may have made those choices for the greater good, but I’m all too aware that their blood is still on my hands. I _should_ be the target of your anger, Cullen; I know how much I’ve asked of you.” The laughter left Zima’s eyes and she stared at her own hands, rubbing them as if trying to wash something away, hair falling forward over her eyes.

“Nonsense. I joined the Inquisition long before we ever heard of you. And you’ve made the best decisions you could, which in case you haven’t noticed has gained us more than any of us have had a right to expect.”

She brushed the short dark hair back from her face in that unconscious habitual gesture and suddenly grinned impishly as she met his eyes. “I’ll agree to believe that if you’ll believe you’ve done the same.”

His hand paused in petting Derzka, who responded by whining urgently and thrusting her wet nose into his palm. “You set me up for that, didn’t you?”

Eyes twinkling, she chuckled, reaching down to scratch Derzka behind the ears. “Partly. Maybe I needed to hear it too.” Cullen answered her shrug with a sigh.

“Did you? I don’t think I’ve ever seen you get angry.”

She began chewing her lip in that way he’d become familiar with, wondering what was troubling her now. “Well, I do, I have just learned to hide my reactions very well. That was part of learning to do what I did; an elf who gets visibly angry in a human village is going to attract attention, a lot of it. And my clan may have given me some practice at keeping my feelings to myself.”

Derzka inched forward as if considering the possibility of trying to climb into Cullen’s lap, a feat she hadn’t quite accepted that she’d outgrown, but she subsided with a disgusted snort when he fixed her with a firm stare. “I’d imagine they did. My siblings liked to test my self-control. Frequently.” She chuckled, suddenly straightening up from the desk.

“Now, you haven’t eaten since breakfast, and you’ve been drinking mulled wine on an empty stomach. I don’t think either of us feels much like facing that crowd of sycophantic nobles at dinner and answering their questions about what happened, so why don’t I go coax a basket of food out of the cooks, and we take Derzka out past that ruined section of wall to eat in peace? Let Josephine and Leliana deal with the nobles and Chantry alone for one night.” He seemed to let go of the last of the tension, answering her grin a bit half-heartedly.

“I’d like that, though I’m not nearly as agile as you are at scrambling over things. Speaking of which, I’d only seen you drilling in the practice yard before we went to the Shrine, never actually in combat. I hadn’t realized just how good you were; I don’t think any of our light Templars could nearly have matched you.”

Zima began to laugh so hard that she couldn't seem to catch her breath in order to respond, finally pointing a finger back toward the main keep through the door. “Six dragon heads on the wall of Skyhold weren’t enough to convince you that I _might_ actually know my business? You’re a hard man to impress, lethallin.” Still trying to get herself under control, she slipped out the door leaving him to answer Derzka’s demands for attention. He held the mabari under the chin with one hand while caressing her head with the other.

“That wasn’t the brightest thing to say, was it?” Derzka barked at him happily, and he snorted. “Well, at least I can make her laugh.”

* * *

**Afterword**

* * *

 

Obviously this doesn't happen in game, but I imagine Cullen beating himself up over every failing. And I definitely would never suggest that someone invite an angry person to hit them. I don't apologize; it fits Zima's personality to make a snap decision in a situation like this, even if it wasn't such a great idea---and remember she's also a particularly fast rogue who would have perfect confidence in her own ability to avoid a blow.

 


	20. Faith

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This takes place after the Arbor Wilds, at the end of the conversation where the Inquisitor finds Cullen praying.  
> No romance (yet). Spoilers.  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.  
> Also, I apologize that there’s been so much time between chapters, but posting will probably be erratic for a month or so due to Real Life™

 

* * *

Zima surveyed the chapel, her eyes resting on the statue of Andraste before raising an eyebrow questioningly at Cullen. “Would you feel a little more reassured about what we’re going into if we said a verse or two of the Chant together?”

From the dumbfounded look on his face, she couldn’t have surprised him more if she’d suggested they ride into battle bareback on halla, completely naked. “But…you’re not Andrastrian, why would you..., I mean, I don’t want you to do something that makes you uncomfortable just to make me feel better.”

“I’m not offering for that reason, or at least only partly.” She drew her lower lip in between her teeth, chewing it unconsciously. “Cullen, I’ve met an ancient elven god, or what remains of one, and she walks Thedas in the body of a human. What does that mean? All I know for certain is that there is too much that we don’t know. I told you once almost a year ago that while I believe in both the Maker and in the Dalish gods, I have too many doubts about both to have true faith in any of them, and nothing has changed that.”

For a moment he frowned in concern, the Kirkwall ex-Templar clearly reasserting himself for the moment as he rubbed at his neck tensely. “I still find that very disturbing, as I do so much power now in the hands of an apostate, possibly a maleficar, even one who you say is also restrained by the power she gained.”

Zima met his eyes firmly. “All of the mages of the Dalish are apostates, Cullen, by the Chantry’s definition. Morrigan was not only trained in one of those other traditions, she seems to be the daughter of that same Dalish god who surely knows the risks better than any of us. I also trust the Warden-Commander’s judgment of her, and my own, and surely that power is less dangerous in her hands than in Corypheus’s.” She chewed her lip as she looked back at Andraste. “Besides, the only other option was to drink from the Well myself, and if Solas walking through my dream unnerved me…” She shuddered, and he rested one hand on her shoulder reassuringly.

“I don’t question your judgment, lethallan, especially the idea of you being forced into obedience to a god. I believe you made the best choice possible; I just worry about the consequences.” He studied the statue of Andraste. “If you really meant it, I mean, are you sure you want to…?”

He was answered with a soft chuckle. “Would it surprise you to know that I said part of the Chant with Karina several times? Not because she asked me, but because those particular verses say things that are worth repeating and remembering, regardless of who you follow, lethallin.”

Cullen nodded, eyes thoughtful now instead of shocked as his hand dropped from her shoulder. “I see, though I suppose I have to wonder which verses a Dalish would find worth repeating.”

A sudden impish light flared up in her dark blue eyes, and she knelt before the altar in her closely fitting leather armor, short dark hair falling forward as she bent her head as piously as any Chantry priest.

“At Shartan’s word, the sky

Grew black with arrows.

At Our Lady’s, ten thousand swords

Rang from their sheaths,

A great hymn rose over Valerian Fields gladly proclaiming:

Those who had been slaves were now free.”

 

Cullen began to laugh, coming to kneel next to her. “Somehow I should have guessed that the heretical verses were the ones you’d embrace, lethallan. Did you really say that one with a revered mother?”

“She taught them to me, the first verse from the Chant that I learned.” She gazed up at the statue thoughtfully. “There was such hope in that verse, the possibility of cooperation and peace between our people that both sides seem to have thrown away. I don’t think most of my people, however, will be willing to admit our own mistakes, just as the Chantry has erased Shartan and the elves’ role from the Chant.” They knelt there in silence for a few moments, and then she began to speak softly, her voice more serious now:

“Blessed are they who stand before

The corrupt and the wicked and do not falter.”

She paused, and he responded just as seriously, “Blessed are the peacekeepers, the champions of the just.” Behind them a figure stood in the doorway looking in, unseen by either of them.

Zima shifted to another verse, “All things in this world are finite.”

“What one man gains, another has lost.”

“Those who steal from their brothers and sisters do harm to their livelihood and their peace of mind.”

“Our Maker sees this with a heavy heart.” Cullen spoke the last words, reaching out to cover her hand with his as they knelt in companionable silence. Even more silently, Solas turned away from the door behind them, slowly walking to the nearby stairs, still unseen.

* * *

**Afterword**

* * *

 

I feel the game raises a lot of questions about their religions that you never get much chance to address in game. Most Dalish would have a bit more to say, and not necessarily complimentarily, about the Chantry than the game allows, but I have written Zima from the beginning as having unusual encounters in the past with priests that would leave her trying to find her way between the two religions. Quite short, but I didn't think this needed more. 

I leave it to your imaginations to guess how much Solas overheard or what he made of this exchange.


	21. Hope

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Returning from defeating Corypheus.  
> No romance (yet). Spoilers.  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.  
> Also, I apologize that there’s been so much time between chapters, but posting will probably be erratic for a month or so due to Real Life™

* * *

 

Zima walked slowly up the stairs toward the waiting advisers, past the saluting Inquisition soldiers as the crowd cheered in the courtyard, aware that the group who had followed her---already short one member when they entered the gate---had remained behind her at the foot of the stairs. Josephine's months of training had lent remarkable poise under such scrutiny to someone whose life had once relied on avoiding notice. When she reached the landing, she hesitated, blue eyes widening in surprise as Leliana and Cullen bowed, Josephine dropping into an elegant curtsy, but she managed an uncertain smile that relaxed when Cullen stepped forward to grasp her hand in a firm handshake of one warrior and leader to another. To the Dalish woman, her friend’s reserved smile but intent look expressed his feelings quite well. Corypheus was gone and they were all alive.

 

* * *

Zima stared at the high mountain to the right of the balcony facing outward from Skyhold, watching the sky lighten as the sun approached the peak of the mountain, resting her elbows against the bannister. She could hear the sounds of the celebration continuing in the hall below, noticing that it briefly seemed to be louder then more muffled. Curious to see who had deserted the party and opened her door, she turned toward the open doorway to the balcony, then smiled as she recognized the familiar sound of heavy boots.

“Lavellan?”

She answered the hesitant query briefly, “On the balcony.”

Cullen glanced uncertainly around the door to the balcony, Derzka following closely behind him, obviously wondering if he was being too forward, but the warmth of her smile reassured him. While the advisers had occasionally had lunch in her room so they could continue discussing a particular problem or make plans, he’d never come alone or uninvited. And while she knew his quarters were upstairs from his office, she had never seen them more closely than observing the gaping hole in the ceiling from the adjacent tower. It was as if their friendship’s boundaries were set at the edges of their private worlds, those little parts of each that could never entirely understand what it was to be human and Dalish. Yet here he was.

“We’re not intruding, are we?” Derzka whined briefly, but her training held her in position at his heels, still not fully grown but a far cry from the rambunctious puppy she’d been a few months before.

“No, of course not.” She turned back to the railing, leaning against it again. “I was just gathering my thoughts in the quiet after all the celebrating.”

Cullen joined her at the railing, crossing his arms and leaning on it next to her to look out at the brightening light. “I was a little worried about you. For someone who just returned in triumph from defeating a would-be god, you seemed a little subdued at the celebration. You aren’t…,” he paused uncertainly, “you aren’t worried by Solas’s disappearance, are you?”

“No, I always knew he was only here long enough to deal with the threat Corypheus posed, that he never forgot how much at risk he was as an apostate. Honestly, though I suppose I shouldn’t admit it, I’m glad he got a start on anyone who might try to track him down. All he wanted was a chance to go back to his Fade dreaming in peace.”

They stood there in companionable silence, Derzka sat down with a disgusted snort that they weren’t paying any attention to her. Finally Zima continued. “It’s a little much to take in all at once.” She shrugged without lifting up from the bannister, her short dark hair whipping around in the breeze, her dark blue eyes protected by the narrow band around her head. “We’ve been so focused on first the breach, then Corypheus, for months, it feels as if…I don’t know, as if I’d been pushing on a log that was blocking the path of our aravels for days until it suddenly gave way and rolled free. Except more.” She chuckled softly. “I’m not sure that made sense even to me.”

“Actually, it does. I think, though, maybe it’s always like that, but the people who are pushing directly are the ones who are left feeling most off balance.”

“Off balance, I think that’s the phrase I wanted.” She laced her fingers together, concentrating on them. “It’s strange, but Corypheus was hardly gone and all I could think was what would be the next big problem to deal with.”

“There are still problems to deal with, but surely nothing as big as what we’ve been facing. Though I admit that I’m a bit worried about how some of the more conservative members of the Chantry are going to respond to Leliana as the new Divine.”

“Probably not well because no matter how gently she tries to introduce it, the changes she wants are going to threaten their power.” He turned his head to watch her profile, her brows drawn together in concentration. “Of course, that’s a lot of why they’re needed, but I’m very much afraid there’ll be violence toward the first elves and dwarves accepted into the priesthood. They have the ability to stir up resentment with the poorest humans who'll feel threatened by any elf with authority. And if a qunari asks to join…" …”

Cullen continued to study her profile for a few moments, then looked down at the scattered trees, gilded with the reddish gold sunlight. “Do you plan to be one of them?”

“A priest? Me?” Startled, she straightened from the railing. “Cullen, I may be willing to do many things, but I would never be able to live that sort of lie.”

Cullen straightened, then reached down to pet Derzka who had managed to wiggle forward enough to be sitting between them. “I wasn’t sure, lethallan, you clearly enjoyed the time you studied with Chantry scholars before you joined us, and I know you still talk to them whenever one visits.”

“I don’t have faith in the Chantry, but I do believe Leliana is the best chance my people have for it to be channeled it into a form that will allow us to coexist, including Andrastrian elves. And unlike most of my people, I can accept that most non-Dalish elves have no wish to be Dalish. Briala is much more a model for them than I can ever be.” She sighed, kneeling to scratch a delighted Derzka under the chin. “Sooner or later, I think Orlais will explode again, you know.”

“Why do you say that? Briala and Celene seem to be working well together so far, and even if Briala’s elevation isn’t popular, Josephine says the nobles aren’t actively resisting.”

The dark-haired woman shrugged. “They have only to be patient. Celene isn’t young, she is now tacitly acknowledged to have a female elven lover, and her only close heir, Gaspard, is dead. If I’ve learned anything from Josephine and Leliana’s lessons on the Game, they’re beginning to maneuver with the succession in mind. If we’re very lucky, Celene will live for another forty years and someone else will have to try to head off a blood bath. And of course, there is whatever is going on with the Wardens, the qunari, Navarre’s succession, and Tevinter.” The mabari suddenly tried to give her a sloppy dog kiss which she managed to duck with a laugh, standing back up out of reach to the dog’s disappointment.

Cullen shook his head, chuckling as he stroked Derzka’s head. “I think you’re ahead of even Josephine in worrying about the next problems, and this should be your night to celebrate. _You_ gave us all hope, and now you’ve given us a chance to try to restore order.”

“It took the entire Inquisition, lethallin, my part was as much accident as anything else.” She rested her forearms back against the railing.

“Nonsense.” He rested a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Whether it was providence or accident or some of both, you did everything any of us could have asked.” She brought her left hand up to cover his for just a second. “You’re still needed with the Inquisition, of course; it may be years before things have stabilized enough to disband it again.”

Zima lowered her hand, eyes closed as she enjoyed the feel of the sun directly on her face as it cleared the mountain. “Of course, I’ll stay as long as I can and do whatever is needed, but eventually, my clan will recall me to my duty with them.”

“Your clan. Of course, I forgot.” His hand tightened on her shoulder again for a moment then he clasped his hands on the bannister beside her, his amber eyes on her profile thoughtfully for a moment before gazing back out at the brightly lit trees and the long shadows cast by the sunrise.

 

* * *

  **Afterword**

* * *

In DAI the Inquisitor doesn’t seem to develop the same kind of close relationships as the Warden or Hawke with their companions. While the romance scenes on the balcony at the end of the game are sweet, I was a little disappointed that there wasn’t the option to invite your favorite companion up to chat for those who didn’t have a romance interest since friendship is just as valuable (and often longer lasting) in itself.


	22. Duty

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Duty
> 
> A month or two after the defeat of Corypheus, long enough for Leliana (in this world) to go to Val Royeaux to officially become the Divine. An encounter with a force of nature.
> 
> No romance (yet). Spoilers.  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.

**Duty**

* * *

Blonde head and black almost touched as the two bent over a yellowed manuscript, the woman tracing a line without quite touching it. “This part here seems familiar somehow. Do you recognize it?”

Cullen shook his head, shifting the nearby candles to improve the lighting. “No, though you’re right, it does seem familiar.” He pointed to another section. “I’m certain I’ve read almost _those_ exact words before.”

Zima sighed. “Me too, so it has to have been from a book or manuscript we’ve both read, which means we should be able to narrow it down fairly easily. I never laid my hands on more than a score of books and manuscripts like this myself, military strategy and philosophy manuals aren’t common in Chantry libraries.” She straightened to rummage through the stacks of newer, dust-free books piled on a table next to her. “When we discovered this section of books, I asked that mage in the rotunda library to have anything related brought down here.” She opened the cover of one book after another, setting the first several aside quickly, then showing Cullen the title of one.

“No, I haven’t read that one, at least not closely enough I’d remember the wording.”

She stacked it with the rejected books and continued. “I hope we manage to identify at least a few of these while I’m in Skyhold. Why did I ever think defeating Corypheus would mean we’d have a little time free of emergencies? I’ve hardly set foot in Skyhold for more than a day at a time since then.” Zima held out another title page for his examination, but he shook his head.

“That just means people think you now have time to solve their problems for _them_. And you had to attend Leliana’s ceremony in Val Royeaux.” He bent back over the manuscript, adjusting the candlestick again. “I suppose I could have tried to work on some of these while you were gone, lethallan, but since you found them and realized what they were first, it seemed unfair to cheat you out of the fun of unravelling what they are.”

“Not to mention that you’ve been kept busy yourself, lethallin. At least Josephine and Cassandra promised us a quiet afternoon to work on these while they work with Charter, getting her up to speed.” The dark-haired elf tilted another book’s title page toward him, and he thought for a moment before shaking his head. “How _is_ she working out?”

“Well enough. She’s not Leliana, of course, but she’d need years more experience for that. But even if she’s less astute on the Orlesian Game, she’s more level-headed in some other areas, I think, and she has a remarkable knack for seeing the flaws in an argument.” Suddenly Cullen reached for her arm, drawing her toward the desk and pointing to a line well down the page. “Does that ring a bell for you?”

Zima studied the line for a few moments before suddenly grinning and beginning to shuffle through the books quickly, pulling out a small purple book bound in gurn hide leather, quickly flipping through it. “Got it!” Moving back to stand with upper arm touching his, she carefully set the open book on top of the manuscript, pointing to a line in the book, then back to the manuscript. “There!”

He checked the two lines and chuckled. “Yes, though a word or two has been changed.” He picked up the book and flipped to the title page. “I didn’t know you’d read Drakon’s text on drilling troops to work in formations.”

“Oh, yes. I think most of the Chantries had a copy of that one, though one Templar got a bit suspicious when he caught me reading it. I had to pretend I had accidentally pulled it off a shelf of religious texts where it had been mis-shelved.” She chuckled, leaning closer in while tucking short black hair out of the way behind her ears. “I spent the next week afraid to be seen reading anything besides the chant and sermons on the chant.”

Cullen chuckled in response, then pointing out another line. “Look at this section here; it’s similar but again a few words are different. Is this a mis-transcription of Drakon’s text, or something else?”

She leaned in closer to consider the line he indicated. “I’m not sure. Does it seem as if the wording in this manuscript is…older than Drakon’s? Look at how the writer phrases this part, lethallin, I don’t have to struggle to understand Drakon’s wording, but this I do. And more of the words have older spellings in this than Drakon’s book. I know he’s considered a military genius, but surely he learned some of his ideas somewhere?”

Cullen leaned forward until his cheek was almost touching her, studying the line. “I think you may be right, lethallan.”

The soft sound of fabric moving behind them brought them both upright abruptly, almost tangling with each other as they turned toward the doorway of this buried library. An elven woman with short black hair, heavily streaked with grey, held a staff as she regarded the two of them coolly, so proudly erect that the fact she was notably diminutive even for an elf registered on Cullen hardly more than did the presence of a distinctly anxious Josephine hovering behind her. It took another second before her vallaslin registered on him. _Dalish? No one sent word that any Dalish emissaries were…_

“Da’len?”

“Deshanna?” The stunned tone in Zima’s voice struck him first before her use of the woman’s name. _Deshanna, oh…_ He could feel her stiffening next to him.

Josephine spoke apologetically, “Inquisitor Lavellan, I _am_ sorry, but they arrived unexpectedly and she wanted to see you at once.”

Zima took a step forward, holding out her hands to take the woman’s briefly between them in greeting, recovering her poise and suddenly formal before stepping to the side to gesture politely at Cullen. “My apologies, you took me by surprise. Commander, may I introduce Deshanna Istimaethoriel, Keeper of Clan Lavellan. Keeper Istimaethoriel, this is Cullen Rutherford, the Commander of the Inquisition’s forces.”

He imitated Zima’s formal address, praying he got the pronunciation correct. “Keeper Istimaethoriel, I’m pleased to meet you.” Pale blue eyes met his coldly, and he fought a shiver at her regard.

“Commander, I’ve heard a great deal about you.” Without another word, she turned and led the way back out of the library, leaving Zima to stare after her, baffled, before pulling herself together to lead the others after her.

* * *

 Josephine hastily arranged for tea and refreshments to be served in Zima’s quarters to a gathering which included all three advisors, Cassandra, and Dorian, as well as two Dalish hunters. To everyone’s surprise, two Chantry-loyal Templars accompanied the two hunters, seemingly on excellent terms with them as well as the Keeper, apostate or not. The two hunters, about the same age as Zima, exchanged much warmer greetings with her than Deshanna had, and it quickly became apparent that they were a pair when Zima inquired after their children.

The woman, Veshalla, settled herself comfortably on a bench next to the man, hands cradling a cup of tea to warm them. “Creators, our oldest has begun training as a hunter, she’s insufferable every time she makes a good shot.”

Milanis laughed softly. “As if either of us were any different when we started.”

“True, but it’s different when it’s your _own_ child bragging. Her brother, however, still isn’t interested in weapons, though he practices when we ask him to. He’s begun lurking about and trying to learn woodworking, so we think he’ll be apprenticed to the master craftsman.”

Milanis’s eyes twinkled at Zima as he accepted a cup of tea from Josephine with a nod of thanks. “ _Ma serannas_ , my lady. Lethallan, imagine it, the two of us having a child who wasn’t born to the bow and sword?”

She chuckled, relaxing just a little, though she’d been unusually tense since she first saw Deshanna. “Creators forbid, you two spent every waking minute practicing for months when we first started weapons training, then you never talked about anything else at the campfire at night.”

They rolled their eyes at their friend, so close to unison that Cullen had to hide a smile. “My mother complains that we’re still that bad some days.”

The dark-haired man tilted his head to regard his red-headed mate with a smirk. “My father claims I’d never have noticed you were a girl if you hadn’t knocked my feet out from under me while we were practicing with staff.”

“Twice.” She added smugly, grinning back. “In less than two minutes.”

“I knew you were the girl for me then and there.” He glanced around abruptly, as if remembering for the first time that they were among strangers, then grinned sheepishly. “She still beats me with staff most of the time, but I’m better with a sword.” The woman looked as if she was prepared to challenge him, then she also looked around a bit uncertainly at the mostly human faces around her.

Zima was laughing outright now. “You two have hardly changed in twenty years. And the youngest two?”

“Both moving fast enough to make _us_ tired. When Deshanna asked us to travel with her, we were glad enough to leave them with our parents and siblings for a month or two.”

Lavellan sobered, glancing at the Keeper who had accepted a cup of tea from Josephine with great dignity and a quiet “Ma serannas,” but had otherwise remained silent throughout the exchange, eyes resting mostly on Zima, but Cullen was uncomfortably aware that he had come in for her measuring regard as well. “I was very surprised to see you, Keeper Istimaethoriel; you didn’t send word that you planned to visit.”

Veshalla rather than Deshanna spoke, “Lethallin, the danger from the damage to the Veil is past, surely it’s time for you to come home to the clan. We all miss you, especially the children.”

Cullen saw Zima’s lips part and the lower lip curl as if she was about to start chewing it in her familiar way, but to his surprise, she stopped herself before she did. “The Inquisition is still helping restore order, but of course, if the clan needs me, my first duty is to the clan. Is that why you came?” She turned her dark blue eyes back to Keeper Istimaethoriel questioningly, her eyes curiously flicking to the two Templars who had politely retired with their tea to the balcony.

Deshanna sipped her tea before answering, as elegantly and deliberately as any Orlesian dowager. “Actually, I received an invitation to visit Val Royeaux from someone who said she was your friend, Da’len, and gave me the assurances of the Chantry that I would be safe visiting there.” She nodded toward the two Templars on the balcony. “She even sent an escort who were surprisingly friendly and candid to someone who would have been considered a dangerous apostate only a year or two ago. You can imagine my surprise when we arrived in Val Royeaux to discover the person extending that invitation was the new Divine.” She smiled politely, letting no indication of her actual reaction escape. “I’m not certain what the senior Chantry officials thought about her entertaining a heathen Dalish apostate as an honored guest, but I found her surprisingly delightful, not at all what I expected from a senior member of the Chantry, even after your experiences, Da’len.”

“You got here by way of Val Royeaux?” Josephine seemed startled. “Now, I wonder why she did not send word that you were coming, we could have prepared a better welcome for you.”

“I asked her not to send word; I’m glad to find she respected my wishes.” She sipped again, then smiled politely at Josephine. “You must understand, we have heard only rumors and even with Zima’s letters, it was difficult for us to be certain everything here was as it seemed.” She met Cullen, Dorian, and Cassandra’s eyes in turn, still smiling politely, but as opaque as if she were wearing an Orlesian mask. “The Divine assured me that you were quite happy and well-respected here, Da’len, and I am reassured to see that she was right.” She openly scanned the room, eyes pausing visibly on small indications of a Dalish presence, as well as items that obviously were Zima’s, then she met Charter’s amused eyes with an almost imperceptible nod. Cullen had the oddest feeling that she had evaluated the room for the signs of a Dalish resident when they first entered to reassure herself, and for some inexplicable reason, she had just politely announced her acceptance that this elegant room was genuinely Zima’s home. Clearly Charter understood her reasoning, and he suspected it told Zima something as well, though she was clearly more unnerved than amused.

Just then, there was the click of claws on the stairs, and Cullen looked around to see Derzka trotting cheerfully toward him, tongue lolling. Thankfully, her training held, and she plopped herself down between his chair and Zima’s, regarding the newcomers excitedly. The hunters reacted warily, but chuckled when Derzka abruptly shoved her head under Zima’s hand in an obvious demand for attention. Deshanna’s polite smile didn’t slip, but it was clear to Cullen that her eyes were observing that the mabari was indulging in a familiar routine.

“Da’len, who is your friend? Is she a mabari?”

Zima stroked the mabari’s head fondly. “Yes, she’s Commander Cullen’s mabari, a gift from King Alistair. Her great-grandfather was Stoika, the mabari who followed Misha Sabrae.”

Milanis almost choked on his tea before lowering the cup to eye her suspiciously. “Stoika? And this mabari’s name?”

“Derzka, of course.” Zima had a twinkle in her eye as her two friends dissolved into howls of laughter, to the confusion of most of those present.

“Creators, Zima, you and that story!” Veshalla managed to bring herself back under control, eyes watering as she brushed her short red hair back from her face in a gesture very like Zima’s.

Dorian had been silently studying Deshanna just as intently as she had been studying Zima’s non-elven friends, but now spoke up. “We know it’s a Dalish name, but what story? Why is it so funny?”

“Because Derzka is a character from a children’s story, a squirrel.” Veshalla continued on merrily despite the pleading look Zima shot her. “It was Zima’s favorite story as a child, and when we were, I think, seven? Eight? Zima found an injured squirrel and decided she must be Derzka and slipped her into her family’s aravel. The results were…legendary.”

Zima had one hand over her face, hiding her embarrassment. “So legendary that almost twenty-five years later, these two won’t let me forget. And I should point out that _I_ wasn’t the one who started it by naming a Fereldan national hero after the Dalish hunter from that story.”

Josephine eyed the mabari with a stern eye. “So, you’re named after a squirrel, are you? That explains the havoc you create every time you get into my office.” The mabari whined at her pleadingly.

Deshanna raised one eyebrow at the mabari, then turned her pale blue eyes on Zima. “And how did she get a name from a Dalish children’s story?”

Cullen coughed to clear his throat. “I…um,…overheard the Inquisitor telling the story of Stoika and Derzka to some children just a few days before Derzka arrived. When we were told her great-grandfather was named Stoika, well…”

Deshanna tilted her head to the side, regarding Derzka who stared back, as if subdued by the force of the personality confronting her. “Would you care to come and introduce yourself to me, young Derzka?” She then raised an eyebrow at Cullen as if already aware that the dog had been trained to hand signals. Cullen signaled her and, remarkably sedately, the mabari crossed to sit down in front of the tiny woman who offered a slender hand for the mabari to sniff. Derzka sniffed, licked it briefly, and sat panting, her tail beating a loud, pleased rap on the floor. “I am pleased to meet you, as well, young warrior. Our acquaintance with human hounds is not usually so pleasant.” She lifted pale blue eyes to meet Zima’s in some message unreadable to everyone else present.

* * *

 By the time everyone finished a cup of tea and the light pastries that Josephine passed around, the Keeper was making it firmly but politely obvious that she expected to speak to Zima alone. Soon. The hunter Veshalla scooped up Cassandra and Cullen, asking if they could show her and the two Templars around the armory and training yard and perhaps give her some advice on coordinating with the various human forces of Wycome. Milanis smiled charmingly at both Josephine and Charter and asked if they could spare him some time to discuss how to improve Wycome’s relations with Antiva and the city-states further up the Minanter River, particularly Ansburg and Starkhaven.

No sooner did the door to Zima’s quarters close behind the last of them than she raised an eyebrow at the younger woman who quickly crossed to her desk, shuffling papers. “I sent you everything I could remember from the Temple of Mythal, as well as…” A single soft word right behind her interrupted the nervous stream of words.

“Da’len” She met Deshanna’s eyes reluctantly, but she simply held out her arms, and Zima stepped into them and embraced the older woman who held her tightly, stroking her hair. “It is one thing to retain our dignity in front of outsiders, but surely you missed me a little.”

“Of course! I was so scared for all of you when everything was happening in Wycome; it could so easily have…” her voice trailed off as Deshanna chuckled softly.

“I admit, it was a nearer thing than I like to recall. The one called Jester and the diplomat have been a great deal of help in calming the situation. I never thought I’d find the presence of human troops so reassuring, but Lieutenant Rozellene and the Inquisition forces have been very thoughtful in their dealings with Dalish and Wycome elves alike.” Deshanna held Zima out at arm’s length, studying her.

“Da’len, you have been _da’assan_ for our clan, but I never meant to send you into this sort of danger _. Ir abelas_. How many times can we shoot you at a target before you shatter?”

Zima chuckled, but glanced toward the door to the balcony. “You are the _bor’assan_ , the arrow does not complain that it is used for the purpose for which it was crafted.” She drew away to fidget with papers on her desk. “I have cleared the path for the _Hanal’ghilan_ to the Dalish, I have entered the Temple of Mythal and spoken to the remnants of Arlathan’s elves. I have stood in the presence of Mythal, or what remains of her.”

Deshanna reached out to turn over the hand clenched around the Fade anchor which glowed just enough to show it was merely dormant, not neutralized by Corypheus’s end. “You have walked a strange _viran_ for one of our people, da’len. Humans and the elves who follow their ways believe that their Andraste chose you to save them, they believe their Maker’s blessing is on you, and they have followed _you_ , one of the Elvhen, to face one of their greatest fears, and defeated him. You are a close friend to the human Divine herself.” Her eyes suddenly sharpened and her grip on Zima’s hand tightened. “And, apparently, Templars.”

“ _Ex_ -Templars. Or one, at least.” The younger woman sighed, but met her Keeper’s eyes as if expecting, if dreading, this conversation.

“Da’len, I arrive here wondering whether I’ve been told lies about how you have been treated or whether you lied about injuries…again,” she raised an eyebrow knowingly in a way that made Zima squirm, “and I discover you alone with a _shemlin_ , calling him lethallin. Worse, he knows enough to call you lethallan, and his _bonded_ mabari accepts you as part of her family.”

“ _Human_ , Deshanna, not _shemlin_.” Zima spoke quietly but firmly. “Cullen has never treated any elf as less than the equal to a human in my hearing, please don’t call him that.”

“What is this _human_ to you, da’len?”

“A good friend, Deshanna, nothing more.” Her voice remained steady, but she no longer quite met Deshanna’s eyes. The Keeper snorted.

“Da’len, I’ve known you your entire life, have you ever been able to tell me a lie?”

Zima stared down at her hand in the grip of Deshanna’s. “The Commander is an honorable man, Deshanna, I trust him more than any other human here, any other _person_ here, but I’ve never let myself forget who he is and who I am.”

“And who is he, besides a very attractive human man?” The Keeper’s voice was steely, but Zima didn’t look up.

“He’s been a Templar most of his life, Deshanna, serving in a circle tower; he just hasn’t realized how many women here find him attractive. _Human_ women.” Zima gently but firmly pulled her hand loose. “Lethallan, even the elvhen don’t find me attractive, why would a human man like him? Of course I've never forgotten that, you worry about nothing. If you need me in Wycome, I know my duty.”

“You will never believe me that when we re-shaped you into our weapon, what was left was only partly of our world, and that was what has set you apart.” Deshanna spoke softly, but her eyes were penetrating as she studied the bent head of her young clanswoman, then folded her arms around her gently. “ _Halam’shivanas_? Is that all you ever expect or want, da’len, to be a _da’assan_ , fired at a target by your people until you shatter?”

Only silence answered her, but Zima buried her face against her Keeper’s shoulder, accepting the comfort offered.

* * *

  **Afterword**

* * *

I make the assumption that the anchor functions somewhat independently of the breach and will persist after the end of DAI’s events. If I’m proven wrong, _Ir abelas_. I've thrown in quite a bit more Elvhen than usual, but I think most of it explains itself except possibly _bor’assan_ \- bow, and _Halam’shivanas - "the sweet sacrifice of duty."_

I admit when I started this story, I had three possible endings in mind. One, which was actually my preference, I discarded because I could never make it work. I only decided when I started writing this chapter which ending I would use, but I may write the alternative ending at some future date.


	23. Honor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A very unexpected chat
> 
> No violence. Spoilers.  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima and the Dalish hunters are mine.

* * *

Over the rest of that day and the next, Keeper Istimaethoriel kept all of the remaining senior members of the Inquisition scrambling with polite but firm requests for information and discussions, many of them private. Dorian emerged from his meeting with her straight to the tavern to down several drinks, commenting to Scout Harding that it was too bad Madame Vivienne had returned to Val Royeaux and court; _that_ woman could intimidate even her. Rumor went around that several of the Orlesian nobles had found themselves at a disadvantage when they tried to condescend to her, and after the first two or three were left speechless by brief, cuttingly polite remarks, the rest were treating her with considerable, and wary, respect. Zima herself was hardly seen except in the company of one of the three Dalish visitors unless she was attending private Inquisition meetings in the war room, during which she was reticent, at best, only shrugging when they asked her what was going on.

The two hunters, however, were remarkably friendly and surprisingly personable. The woman, Veshalla, even coaxed a brief laugh from Cassandra at some joke while they sparred. Both hunters impressed Cullen with their thoughtful questions, though he was also unsurprised to discover that both were quite familiar with a great deal of human military philosophy, strategy, and tactics. Milanis completely charmed Josephine who claimed the couple as her dinner partners the second night, coaxing them into telling her their impressions of Wycome and Val Royeaux before the two hunters rounded up most of the senior members of the Inquisition as well as their two Templar escorts to spend a celebratory evening in the tavern. Charter leaned over to Cullen, who had politely declined to join the others, and murmured softly, “They play the part well, don’t they?”

“Part?” Cullen was startled, turning to see Deshanna herding Zima through the door to her quarters.

“Harmless ordinary hunters who think with their swords and bows, fight hard, drink hard, I bet they even teach Maryden some scandalous Dalish song once everyone’s well into their cups tonight. Exactly how you’d expect two ordinary soldiers from the Free Marches or Fereldan to behave.” Her eyes were amused rather than worried, but he was uneasy.

“You think they’re acting? Surely the Inquisitor’s clan members wouldn’t…I mean, there are only three of them here, what could they do?”

“Oh, I don’t mean they’re up to anything treacherous. I’ve been paying attention to what questions they and that Keeper of theirs have been dropping casually into other conversations. They aren’t interested in our military strength or our defenses; they’re getting people to talk about the Inquisitor. And about you.”

“Me?” Cullen stiffened, but she just grinned at his reaction.

“Within a couple of months of the explosion at Haven, we knew a great deal about the Herald’s clan, you know. Those two ‘ordinary’ hunters share the spot as senior hunter for their clan, the closest to military leaders a Dalish clan has, and they personally have a reputation among the other clans not only as deadly warriors, but also as unusually canny.” She grinned suddenly. “As well as a reputation when they were younger for…taking offense to certain rumors which were being repeated about their best friend. It seems they both got into so many brawls at a clan gathering, an Arlathvhen, about nine years ago that they were confined to Clan Lavellan’s camp.”

“You know about those, then.” Though he knew Leliana had investigated Lavellan carefully, he found himself resenting the fact that they had unearthed something so personal.

“Of course. Vicious gossips will talk to anyone.” Charter pushed her chair back from the table, smoothing her already neat hair. “Everyone acts, Commander, all I can tell you is that those two are fiercely loyal to our Inquisitor, and I don’t think a word spoken or gesture or look in front of them is missed or forgotten.”

* * *

 Cullen glanced up to his right as someone entered his office through the open door, startled to see the Keeper enter alone, rather than one of his aides. Nervously, he jumped to his feet, then heard Derzka stirring from her corner, but before he could signal her to stay, Deshanna herself had made the correct hand signal to Derzka to “lie down and stay.” His surprise must have shown because she gave him that polite smile that revealed nothing. “Your houndmaster gave me a demonstration of how she was training the others yesterday. A fascinating skill.”

“And…you learned the hand signals simply from watching a demonstration?”

She nodded, again reminding him of an Orlesian dowager displaying her nobility in court, though nothing about the woman suggested she shared their shallow self-centeredness. “The leaders of the Dalish are called Keepers because it is our responsibility to keep and share the history and traditions of our people. When almost all of that is done with the spoken word, you must learn to memorize quickly; a dozen or so hand signals are no challenge.” She walked over to the nearest bookcase, examining the books. “That is what made Zima so effective in what she did for us even if she didn’t have a Keeper’s training; all she had to do was read something once and she could retell everything important later.”

That was something he’d worked out about the Inquisitor months ago, though he hadn’t connected that with the Dalish’s oral traditions. He wasn’t certain why she was making it so explicit to someone she had no real reason to trust, though. Cullen eyed the proudly erect woman warily as she ran a finger lightly along a shelf, to all appearances studying the book titles, feeling even more uneasy now at her sudden appearance alone in his office. “Is there…something I can do for you, Keeper Istimaethoriel?” Zima had drilled him and the other advisors in the correct pronunciation of the Dalish name, and he managed it without stumbling on the odd syllables.

Seemingly intent on the title stamped in gold letters on the spine of a book as she continued to face away from him, she spoke in that crisp, quiet voice. He’d noticed it was quite effective in commanding the attention of listeners who unconsciously responded to her authority, “I felt we should talk, Commander. I’m told you and my clanswoman are close, and she clearly thinks very highly of you, you know.”

He hesitated visibly at this directness, his hand tightening on the hilt of his sword unconsciously, obviously trying to decipher where this was leading. “I…am pleased to hear that. I think very highly of the Inquisitor as well, we all owe her a great deal.”

“Inquisitor? Such a formal way to refer to someone who has used your first name when she and I have talked alone.” She took a gliding step to the right, shifting slightly to meet his eyes with her pale blue ones for just a second, her face a perfect mask of polite expressionlessness. “Though I’m fairly certain she doesn’t realize I noticed her slips, of course.”

“The Inquisitor has been a good friend. When we’re alone, we sometimes use each other’s name, but not in public. That would be inappropriate, given her position; I would never undermine her authority or the respect due to her.” Uneasily, he sat back down in his chair, resting his hands on the desk tensely.

Deshanna’s eyes were fixed on the spines of the books again. “And do you spend a great deal of time alone together, Commander?” Her words were mild, but there was a slight but steely challenge to her tone now, and he paled.

“We…we’ve talked sometimes, when one of us has needed someone to listen. You don’t think…Maker’s breath! I mean...we never, I would never…,” He fumbled, trying to find a way to be convincing, suddenly afraid that their friendship would do even more harm to her than past gossip had done, especially in light of what Charter had pointed out last night about their inquiries. “My lady, she explained to me why Dalish don’t…I mean, I would never want her to risk the good opinion of you and her clan.”

Deshanna turned to stare back at him, face unreadable, but her lips thinned into a tight line for a second. Finally she took the chair on the other side of his desk, resting her staff across her thighs and stroking the wood lightly. “Zima told me you were an honorable man.” She watched her hand stroke the wood rather than looking at him after her cryptic statement. “Commander, Zima is…hmm, I’m not sure I have a word for it in your language, born between paths? The Creators, for whatever reason, gave her every gift and talent we Dalish seek in the best Clan Keepers…except magic, the one thing that bars her from ever becoming a Keeper. I would never tell her that; it would only make her life with the Clan seem harder, but I trust you to keep that between us. Worse, she has a thirst for learning that I cannot satisfy; most of the traditional knowledge we Keepers preserve and recover is either magical or so fragmented it could mean anything. She has found an answer to that thirst in the stories and ideas that your people record in books, but that makes most of the Clan uneasy with her, and however much Zima tries to pretend, she knows that too.”

She raised her eyes finally to assess the effect of her words on him. Cullen sat perfectly still, puzzled but at least the mild panic had subsided as it became clear she wasn’t here to make accusations. Finally he nodded slowly, still eying the diminutive woman warily.

“I’ve done the best I could for her, especially once I became Keeper myself, but I’m Keeper for all of Clan Lavellan, not just one woman, and my first responsibility is to see to the good of the entire Clan. I really hoped once Zima was befriended by that Chantry priest that she’d gather up her courage.... But she has a cursed strong sense of duty, in case you missed that.”

Deshanna raised one hand to run through the black hair thickly streaked with gray, finally letting a hint of sincere, exasperated humor escape, and the right side of his mouth quirked upwards in response to that humor. “We might have noticed it, yes.”

She sobered, “She’ll be even more out of place in Wycome. Without what she taught me about both humans and non-Dalish elves, this entire idea would have been disastrous, but at the same time, our Clan no longer has a real need for her skills; Wycome’s elves can supply better information than she could ever collect. And…” Her eyes lowered to the staff again, running a delicate finger along the grain of the wood and circling knotholes, “she told you about the rumors, I think?”

“Yes, I mean I guessed almost from the beginning that there was something wrong, and one day when I…wasn’t myself, I asked. I hadn’t realized…, I mean, I never thought our friendship might…has our…will our friendship make things worse for her?” He stared down at his hands clenched on the desk, then back up to be greeted by a peculiar, slightly rueful smile.

“I begin to understand why she admires you, Commander. I don’t think rumors of your…friendship have reached Wycome, but it honestly doesn’t matter. All it takes is one bitter, jealous person with a loose tongue. The old rumors already have spread to the Wycome alienage and they were apparently all too inclined to believe it because Zima was declared Herald of Andraste, though I admit how that is connected escapes me. Maybe it’s simply her acceptance by the Chantry as their Herald seems more likely if she already turned away from the elvhen. If she comes with me, it’ll be worse, much worse, than before; the Wycome elves who follow the Chantry will treat her like Andraste’s second coming and those who don’t will scorn her.”

Cullen’s eyes flashed with anger when she mentioned the rumors, then he took a deep breath, rubbing the back of his neck as he rose to stare out the window behind his desk. “I thought, we all thought, that you came to take her back to her clan, but you didn’t, did you?” They could faintly hear the guards at the front gate calling out a challenge to an approaching rider.

“If she had not been content here, I would have, but I came hoping that she had made her own decision to stay. Your Divine told me she would be delighted to find a place for her once the Inquisition is no longer needed, so her fears of being forced to submit to life in an alienage are no longer sensible.” She snorted in exasperation. “Commander, she’s clearly happier than she has been since she was a small child and she’s wavering, but she’s convinced it’s her duty to come back to the Clan even though she could do so much more for the Dalish here.” Suddenly the frail-looking woman stood to lean against the open door to the rampart, staring out toward one of the other towers in the distance. “Zima needs someone to show her that she has a better reason to stay.”

Cullen glanced at her nervously, gripping the pommel of his sword, then back out his window to avoid meeting her eyes. “I think I understand, but why are you telling _me_ this?”

A low chuckle surprised him, but she didn’t look toward him. “Everyone who knows the two of you well have suggested to me that you hold that reason, and I think they’re right, whether your honor has allowed you to admit it to yourself or not.” He stiffened, eyes fixed on the view of the mountains from his window. “You know that most of what Zima knew about humans when she arrived came from Chantry priests. Were you aware that several told her that no human and elf can ever feel anything sincere for each other, that it’s _unnatural_ and a human would only be using an elf as a plaything, that she thought that’s what all humans believed, at least until recently.” His head snapped around, but she continued staring out at the mountains.

“She believes that?” He pretended he hadn’t heard the first statement. A guard passed, and she remained silent until he was some distance away along the rampart, out of hearing.

“Until recently, yes. Several things shook her belief, I think, but apparently meeting Misha Sabrae’s human partner convinced Zima.”

“The apostate Morrigan and the Hero of Fereldan? Leliana mentioned something, but I didn’t realize that had lasted past the end of the Blight. Morrigan and the Inquisitor must have spent more time talking than I realized.” Zima’s Keeper turned to face outward from the room, her carriage erect though there was a sense that she was leaning on the staff more than was obvious.

“Did you know that Zima believes there’s something wrong with her, that there's some reason no one can care for her?” Deshanna turned her head just enough to look over her right shoulder at him, his mouth opening impulsively, then closing as if he changed his mind about whatever he meant to say. Finally as she waited for a response, he seemed to make up his mind.

“How can she think that? The Inquisition is full of people who are devoted to her, who believe in her!”

Her grip on the staff tightened. “She doesn’t see that, though.” She was silent for several long seconds, then spoke very softly. “Commander, when I was young, I had a partner for a few months, a lovely woman from another clan who was killed in a hunting accident and I have remained alone for over twenty-five years.” She turned her head back so her soft voice carried over her shoulder, but she didn’t meet Cullen’s eyes. “There are actually two rumors, you know. Some of the Clan believe that Zima and I are lovers, and that’s the real reason I indulge her desire to travel. If she’s ever heard it, she just laughed and assumed the Clan was indulging in wishful thinking, and it would never occur to her that that rumor…might have a grain of truth hidden in it.” She turned back toward the doorway, head high, and not looking at the ex-Templar as he fidgeted uncomfortably. “Commander, if you _can_ think of a reason that might convince her to stay, remember that I don’t ask lightly.”

* * *

  **Afterword**

* * *

The conclusion in the next chapter…

 


	24. Truth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Truth  
> The end.  
> No violence.  
> Disclaimer: Cullen and most characters are property of Bioware from their DA: Inquisition game. Zima is mine.  
> My gratitude to everyone who has let me know, in any form, that they’ve enjoyed this story. I hope this ending doesn’t disappoint.

* * *

After the Keeper was gone, Cullen continued staring out the narrow window of his office for several minutes, then took Derzka out of Skyhold to a quiet spot nearby for several hours, talking to the contented mabari in a low voice. When they returned, the Commander stopped briefly in his office to speak to his aides before crossing the bridge to the rotunda. He stood there in the center of the ground floor of the tower to survey the frescoes left by Solas, hand on Derzka’s head to hold her in place, puzzling over both why the mage had not completed them in an unbroken series and what exactly the final fresco symbolized. Was there an answer of some sort there to the mystery Solas presented?

He and the apostate had never warmed to each other, though they had grudgingly developed a certain level of respect. On his part, he had always told himself it was the mage’s refusal to accept that any precautions were necessary with magic, but their relationship had also become strained over time. He wondered if the mage had ever guessed how much he had frightened Zima by walking into her dream and finally admitted to himself that his own more negative feelings toward the mage dated from the day she described how that dream had shaken her. His response to what she told him that day had been something of a punch to the gut, though he hadn’t had time to really examine his reaction until after he recovered from the bout of withdrawal sickness. By then, he’d understood what his feelings would mean for her even if she returned them, or he had thought he did. The ex-Templar wondered how much of _that_ truth Solas had guessed and resented, or if he had perhaps walked through dreams unnoticed to see their thoughts.

Derzka whined, and he again became conscious of the voices on the floors that ringed the rotunda above. Abruptly in motion, Cullen briskly passed through into the great hall, then through the door to the Inquisitor’s quarters. The door to her room stood open, her way of signaling that she welcomed visitors, and they were almost up the stairs when he realized Zima wasn’t alone, and the other voice held a note of irritation.

“Da’len, you admit yourself that you felt there was a message in meeting Mythal in the body of a human, someone who appears both to elves and to humans, as Asha’bellanar and as Flemeth. Why won’t you accept that part of that message might be meant for you, that you have the opportunity to work for both? The _duty_.” Deshanna faced him, though without any sign she had seen him yet, while Zima’s back was to the stairs.

“I’m still Clan Lavellan, Deshanna. I haven’t shattered.” Zima’s voice was level, but with a note of outright obstinacy that he hadn’t heard before. Uncomfortably he thought maybe he should leave before they noticed he was there, then wondered if he’d get up his courage a second time.

“It doesn’t matter what bow fires an arrow, da’len, as long as it still protects the Clan.” Suddenly Deshanna lost her temper and began to shout. “The truth is, you’re afraid of your Commander and you want to run away! You’ve told me repeatedly that you trust him, that he’s honorable and that you’re friends, but you don’t believe that yourself. You don’t want to return _to_ the Clan, you want to run _from_ him because you don’t want to find out this _shemlin_ is like other humans, not to be trusted, someone who would treat you as a plaything! You’re so afraid of a _shemlin_ while you pretend to trust him that you’d run from all the good you could do here!”

“Deshanna, how dare you! Cullen is an honorable man, more honorable than many Dalish; he’d never treat anyone like that, even me! And don’t call him a shemlin!” Zima lashed out furiously, her hands clenched, but it was the “even me” that Cullen heard and understood most clearly just as a suddenly serene Keeper gazed past Zima’s shoulders to meet his eyes with no sign of surprise in her pale blue ones.

“Da’len. You haven’t lost your temper since before you gained your vallaslin, and you still want me to believe you only feel friendship for _him_?” She indicated Cullen with her chin, both hands grasped around her staff, leaning on it almost casually as Zima turned to see Cullen standing near the top of the stairs. The young woman flushed, then paled, horrified.

“Deshanna!” The stairs blocked, the younger woman fled past her desk onto one of the balconies while Deshanna continued to watch Cullen’s face. After a few seconds, she walked to the stairs calmly to rest a hand on Derzka’s head, reassuring the whining mabari.

“Young warrior, if you would be so kind as to show me the way to Lady Josephine’s office, I think your friends need to talk.” Her soft words left no room for argument for either mabari or man. The Keeper met Cullen’s eyes briefly one last time, with no expression he could decipher, then led a surprisingly unprotesting mabari down the stairs, closing the door firmly at the bottom without a glance back.

Cullen stood for a second or two after the door closed, then slowly walked out to the balcony where Zima sat on one of the benches she’d had added, her back to the opening as she buried her face in arms propped on the balustrade. “Lethallan?” Her back stiffened, whether at the elvhen word or his voice or both, but she didn’t move.

“I can’t believe Deshanna did that to me.”

He very slowly walked over to the bench, sitting down close to her without quite touching. “She did seem to know exactly what she was doing.”

“I’m…so sorry.”

Very gently, he turned her around to face him, unresisting, and though she kept her hands over her face, he could see that her cheeks were wet. “Why are you sorry?”

“I didn’t mean to embarrass you, especially not in front of Deshanna. And I don’t know why she’s been so determined to get me to admit that I see you as anything other than a friend. That’s all that matters. Or mattered.”

“And you think that hearing you defend me changes our friendship?” He spoke as gently as he could, though a note of laughter crept into his voice. “I discover that my closest friend believes in me enough to shout at the person she respects most in all Thedas, then she thinks that would make me think _less_ of her? Of you?” Cullen reached for the hands covering her eyes and drew them down so he could cup her face between his hands and tilt it up until her dark blue eyes reluctantly met his amber ones.

“You’re…not upset? I mean…” she bit her lower lip and began chewing on it, but he wouldn’t let her look away. “I just didn’t want to risk your friendship. I still don’t.”

“You haven’t.” He used his thumbs to dry her cheeks, his lips twisting in a lopsided smile. “But there’s one thing you didn’t consider.”

“What?” Now she was clearly puzzled by his reaction, though he could feel her beginning to relax as his reassurances sank in.

“This.” Her mouth dropped open in surprise, about to ask what he meant when he leaned forward and kissed her very gently, his lips feathering lightly against hers before drawing back to search her eyes, her face still cupped in his hands. “Apparently we’ve both been idiots, Zima.”

His use of her first name seemed to startle her almost as much as the kiss, and she stared back, lips parted in shock until his eyes dropped briefly to her mouth and back to her eyes with a warmth she’d never seen before. She abruptly began to blush to his delighted amusement, his thumbs caressing her cheeks as if to enjoy the warmth. “I…don’t understand.”

“I thought you _wanted_ to go back to your clan.”

She opened her mouth as if to say something, then closed it, instead hesitantly touching his face, fingers lightly running along his stubble. Finally, she began to laugh softly. “Deshanna was partly right. I was running away, but not because I was scared of you. I was afraid you’d realize how I really felt and it would ruin our friendship because I never thought you’d….”

Something changed in his eyes, holding hers more intently instead of finishing her sentence. “You said ‘I _was_ running away.’ Does that mean you’ll stay?”

“Yes, I mean if you really want me here…” Her voice trailed off, frozen as he leaned forward to capture her lips again, this time in a kiss that was soft, but filled with such passion that it erased her last doubts.

* * *

 A small party had gathered in Josephine’s office, with Josephine pouring and serving tea. “You knew when you arrived, then?”

Deshanna laughed quietly, relaxing her commanding, intimidating air for the moment as she sipped her tea, Derzka obediently reclining at her feet, head resting happily against the mage’s leg. “Yes, once your Divine reassured herself that I wouldn’t be opposed as long as he was honorable, she asked if I could sort out why both of them were pretending they only felt friendship for each other because she was certain it was pretense. And she introduced me to a rather _unique_ young woman who made some pointed remarks about having to talk to someone as ‘elfie’ as I am before she described an incident at Halam’shiral when Zima got visibly angry over the Commander’s mistreatment.” She was clearly far more amused than offended by her encounter with Sera. “Frankly, that was enough for me to be certain about Zima at least.”

Milanis accepted his cup of tea with a grin and a nod of thanks. “She spent a dozen years learning to never show anger no matter the insult; that might cause people to notice she wasn’t a local elf when she travelled.”

“Which has been most of the problem for her with the Dalish. Zima seemed to ignore insults and that caused many of the Dalish to react to her as if she were non-Dalish…not that some people didn’t take offense for her.” Veshalla and Milanis just cupped their hands around their tea and blatantly feigned wide-eyed innocence at their Keeper's mock glare.

Deshanna shook her head at the two in mock exasperation, then sighed more convincingly. “The old Keeper and I thought we could improve on the traditional go-between with her, but in doing so, we made her alien to her own people. The fault was ours, and the debt mine to repay, but I could never get past her sense of duty to the Clan. Even she’s known since the breach, deep down at least, that she could do far more for the People as a weapon in the hand of the Inquisition and as a symbol of cooperation; your commander just provided the final push to convince her she can still be that.”

Dorian smirked at her. “I was terrified that I’d slip in front of one of them about what you’d asked, and I was _not_ looking forward to finding out what you’d do to me if I did.”

Milanis grinned at him. “Smart man.”

“It took me less than an hour to realize your commander and our clanswoman are remarkably alike in some ways. I admit I struggled not to laugh when he tried so hard to assure me that nothing had been done or even said between them.”

Veshalla snickered, “Yes, it’s a good thing I wasn’t there because my reaction when you described it was ‘that’s obvious, why not?’ Creators, it’s about time.”

“If we see either of them before breakfast, I’ll be quite disappointed. Your commander strikes me as a man who may not make up his mind easily, but once he does, I believe he will try to be as…convincing in his arguments as possible.” The tiny Dalish woman’s pale blue eyes twinkled humorously at her own innuendo, bending to offer a tidbit to a delighted Derzka.

Charter spoke up for the first time. “Why did you tell him the rumor about you and Lavellan?”

Veshalla snorted. “Some people have made a life of inventing rumors. By last count, those rumors have had Zima in bed with Deshanna, me, Milanis, both of us together after we bonded, and I think they may have thrown in the idea of all four of us together at some point.”

Milanis leered at his mate humorously, “I’m not sure I should be flattered that they think I have that much stamina or insulted that they think I like to watch.”

“Or think you’re too stupid to know how _I_ would react to the idea.” She returned his leer with a sharp elbow to his ribs that caused a few drops of tea to slop over the edge of his cup, then Veshalla smiled sheepishly at Josephine. “No one in the Clans listens to the rumors anymore, but they started by spreading the first rumor outside our Clan before we knew what was going on and the source was forgotten as it spread.”

“Wait, you _lied_ to Cullen?” Josephine gaped at the Keeper.

“Really, ambassador, do I strike you as that naïve or crude?” She sipped her tea with a complacent air. “As you well know, the best weapon in negotiations is the absolute truth, but stated in such equivocal terms that the hearer interprets what he wants to hear. I said that there was a grain of truth to the rumor and he put his own interpretation on it. _I_ never said what that grain of truth was.” Deshanna nodded fondly at the two hunters. “When I lost my partner, there were three young children, just weaned and already best friends, who filled the hole that her death left, but as _children_ , nothing more. Zima perhaps even more than these two because she was left with no close family in our Clan. So yes, my affection for her as a daughter was the reason I let her travel so much; I hoped she would find what she was looking for.”

“Why not just tell him the truth?” Josephine was beginning to eye the Keeper with wary respect.

“If he already felt so guilty that she’d have to choose between him and the Clan that he wouldn’t say anything, how would he react if he knew that he’d be separating her from someone who loved her as a daughter?” Deshanna chuckled at Josephine’s expression, though Charter didn’t seem terribly surprised. “But he would realize that having her remain with the Clan would complicate things for me as a leader if people thought we were lovers, and he wouldn’t be suspicious.”

Dorian chuckled. “You’re right, if he knew you thought of her as a daughter, it would have been impossible to get him to admit anything. Very clever.”

“We Dalish may not play the Orlesian’s Game, but every leader knows some form of it. Just that form and motives differ. The truth is, if your commander owes anyone an apology, it would be to her best friends and you’ll notice once they reassured themselves he was a good man, they haven’t exactly been heartbroken about the idea,” she nodded toward the two hunters, who smirked back. “We created a weapon, but one day she went over a wall into a chantry garden, and that weapon had not been ours alone ever since, whether by the plan of your Maker, our Creators, or simply random chance.”

* * *

 “Cullen?”

“Yes?” He tightened his arms around Zima, inhaling the scent of mint lingering in her hair and a trace of lemon from the oil she used on her leather.

“I just realized, but you were already coming to see me when Deshanna made me lose my temper. You never said why?”

“Ah.” Cullen stalled for a moment to think by kissing the top of her head and filling his lungs with the aroma that was her. “I had an unexpected visitor earlier today.”

Her voice grew suspicious. “Who?”

“Keeper Istimaethoriel.”

She raised her head to meet his eyes warily, and he inhaled sharply at the feel of her pressed against him. “And?”

He grinned and kissed her nose. “She thought you should stay with the Inquisition, and she wanted me to convince you to stay. She didn’t _precisely_ say she knew I was in love with you, but, well, she left me with no doubts that she approved.”

Zima made a disgusted noise. “Creators! And I don’t believe for a moment that she wasn’t quite well aware you were standing on the stairs when she made me angry, either.”

He drew her closer, feeling her relax into him again as he trailed delicate kisses down one cheek. “Well, as grateful as I am for her interference this time, I do have to say I’m rather relieved to know that Clan Lavellan’s Keeper will be on the far edge of the Freemarches. She is quite a formidable woman.” She hummed softly into his ear. “Zima?”

“Yes?”

He had reached her ear and was nibbling the tip, feeling her shiver in his arms. “Mmm, I never knew how beautiful that word was until I heard it in your voice. I hope I have the pleasure of hearing you say it for a very long time.”

Her arms tightened around him, but he felt rather than heard her chuckle. “Yes.”

* * *

  **Afterword**

* * *

As much as I love a good friendship story and firmly believe friendship should never be treated as a consolation prize or less valued in itself, the hint of something else was there from the beginning of the first one-shot about the breadstick battle in the war room. I also enjoy a romance that starts as a strong friendship, so I’m sorry if anyone is disappointed that this really was both.

I wrote from a somewhat remote POV in order to capture how friendship and misunderstanding might develop between two very different cultures. Zima was conceived as a Dalish Cullen in some ways – a strong sense of duty and loyalty, reserved personality, and a lot of concealed self-doubts, but she uses humor as her mask. I’d always planned to use Deshanna to cut the strings to their masks in this ending, but I also wanted Deshanna to be a reminder that nomadic doesn’t mean some sort of simplistic children of nature…

As I said at the end of “Duty,” I started with three potential endings; I’d have to write a different Zima for one of them, so it will never see the light of day. The other, I may still write…

Also, for anyone wondering, yes, I chose random Russian words as the names for people, very few of which are actually names, a habit that started when trying to stop bogging down for hours trying to come up with unique names. Извините мне. Russian just happens to be the language I know best after English.


End file.
